


May The Bridges I Burn Light Our Way

by ClockStrikesMidnight



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Apathetic Eddie Kaspbrak, BDSM, Biting, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Codependency, Depression, Drug Use, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie has a cat whose name is Penny, Emotionally Repressed, First Time, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I Want That Twink Obliterated, M/M, Marijuana, Masturbation, Molly - drug, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Richie Tozier Has a Hair-Pulling Kink, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Self-Destruction, This is just a sad story okay sorry, Top Richie Tozier, Unhealthy Relationships, Virgin Eddie Kaspbrak, Voyeurism, more tags to come, repressed homosexuality, they knew each other as kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockStrikesMidnight/pseuds/ClockStrikesMidnight
Summary: Richie Tozier had been Eddie Kaspbraks entire universe.When Richie left, Eddie lost himself.He's been lost ever since.--A story of lost love, intense reconnection, and the way that pain can always linger.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Stop making the eyes at me, I'll stop making the eyes at you

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello!
> 
> I've been working on this fic for a while now, and I finally feel like it's to a point to share! Please heed the tags, Eddie is pretty emotionally damaged and makes decisions that most people probably wouldn't make. He's also definitely an alcoholic and has very little care for his own wellbeing. First couple chapters are pretty harmless but the story has a dark layout...just...so you know. Couple things to get out of the way: Losers Club is not a thing, Eddie and Richie came from Derry and had friends there but they weren't the Losers. Mike Hanlon is older and Eddies teacher because I didn't want to make an OC lol. Um, I think that's it? I'll add more if any come to mind. 
> 
> Also I made a moodboard for this fic which can be found [ here ](https://www.pinterest.com/fox5495/bridges-moodboard/) and is way more organized than it would ever need to be because I'm a fuck who would rather procrastinate and look at pictures of pretty boys than actually write the damn thing. 
> 
> Title of chapter one is from "I Bet That You Look Good On The Dance Floor" by The Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> Anyway, I do have this story all laid out so HOPEFULLY I will finish it! Might take a while but I'm gonna try my best. I hope you enjoy!!

He looks pretty much the same as he did when he was a kid, but there’s something missing in his eyes. He’s not sure what it is about them, but it’s enticing regardless and Eddie finds himself wanting those eyes to land on him. He remembers being a child with him, spending their days doing nothing and everything, with a happiness that Eddie can’t recall having had _since_ him. He remembers the way the sound of his voice made him feel, and how his embrace always felt like such a secure, _safe_ place to hide when the rest of the world was so violent and cruel. And it was cruel, and horribly bitter.

Eddie had always liked to believe that things got better, because that’s what he was always told. It will get better. He’s certain that it hasn’t yet, and understands that it probably never will. He remembers the way they used to share glances no one else saw, or, he didn’t think they did, but something tells him that the rest of their friends always knew there was something different between these two. The way the others would fall back and let the two boys walk ahead in the summer sunlight, so wrapped in their own world that they’d barely notice when their fingers found each others and interlaced to form a perfect fitting hold. It always felt right.

_R+E._

He remembers that the most vividly, scratched into the bridge that used to take so much of their time. Richie always had a Swiss army knife on him and it stressed Eddie out more than anything as a child. Richie would show him all of the little gadgets that rested inside the red exterior, but it would never do much to calm Eddies nerves; all the while Eddie knew that he could trust Richie, _of course_ he could trust Richie because he was his everything and he would never hurt him. He would always be his everything, even if the other boy didn’t feel the same way. It doesn’t even feel like a memory anymore, more like a daydream, there’s something in him now that can’t understand that that was them, it doesn’t feel real now.

Maybe because he just couldn’t believe it was real, because life didn’t get better, and Richie _did_ hurt him, like he never thought he would.

Eddie knew his feelings long before Richie left. That’s what made it all hurt so much worse, and if he’s honest with himself, it hadn’t stopped hurting since. It’s his own fault, he tells himself, he should have just told him, but when he looks back at the times they spent together, the _years_ they spent together, it’s hard for him to believe that Richie didn’t know on some level. Or possibly feel the same way—

_Shut the fuck up right now._

Eddie shakes his head with a tense exhale and forces himself to look away from the other man, (yes, _man,_ god it’s been so long), and brings his attention back to his laptop, where images of his cat—Penny, sitting on his windowsill on an early morning— are too slowly being edited. He knows he needs to finish these images today otherwise Professor Hanlon will have him in a world of hurt, but something feels so ingenuine about them that he can barely look at them without feeling disgusted with himself. There’s been something missing in his photography for what feels like a long time, and Eddie wonders if he honestly ever had his heart in it to begin with. He had taken an elective beginning photography class out of sheer curiosity during his first year in college and was surprised to hear that one of his first images, (a close up of his roommate, Beverly; her face, with dramatic shadows and what his professor had called “endless yearning” in her eyes), was going to be published on the schools website as a way to tell prospective students, _hey, check it out kids, this is what you could do_ here _, at none other than Oregon State University!_ Eddie hadn’t been too thrilled about the whole idea, but the boost of confidence, and insistent nagging from his professor were enough for him to give into the photography major, and “inspire all of his classmates to be the best photographer they could be”. Like he gave a shit if his peers succeeded, most of them were pathetically hopeful anyway. People didn’t get into photography thinking that they’d end up wasting their lives away in front of a computer screen and dealing with bosses telling you your art wasn’t good enough. They soared on the idea that some day they’d get to take headshots of the president or take the next great photo for the cover of a magazine, and for ninety nine percent of them, this would never come close to true. This is the third week Eddie has been behind on his weekly assignments and he can feel the weight of Professor Hanlon’s disappointment but can’t bring himself to really care.

His eyes risk taking another glance at the other man, who sits across the student lounge from him on a high stool table, alone. God he looks so much like the kid who Eddie remembers from his childhood, but it can’t be him right? There’s no way the kid who abandoned Eddie when he needed him the most, could be sitting here in the same college, of all places, all these years later. There’s no fucking way.

He doesn’t realize he’s been analytically staring until the man’s blue eyes catch his. A shudder runs down Eddies spine as he darts his eyes hastily away.

_No, no there’s no way he saw that._

He stares back down to his laptop, absentmindedly clicking away and turning his photo into an outright mess because he just needs fucking something to distract himself and make it look like he’s busy.

_Oh, you thought I was looking at you? Obviously not, I was here making a disaster of my photos, why would I even look at you, it’s not like I know you._

A deep, trembling exhale makes its way through his body as he tries desperately not to blush. He can’t even think straight enough to click buttons on his laptop and settles on picking at the skin around his nails with his teeth, a horrible habit he has when he gets nervous. He doesn’t hear the soft footsteps as they approach his booth.

“Um, hey, do I know you?”

_Fuck._

Eddie looks up to see the other man standing a few inches away from his booth, and damn he got _tall._ Eddie can’t help himself from looking the man up and down, every inch of him because there is just so much of him that he wants to remember. He’s wearing converse high tops that look like he might have had them since the last time his feet grew with all of the rips and mud caked around the perimeter. He has black skinny jeans on that accentuate how unbelievably _long_ he is and a simple black belt around his waist that doesn’t seem to be doing much because his sharp hip bones are visible above the waist line. Above that is an untucked white tee shirt and a leather jacket that Eddie feels like he wants nothing more than to smooth his fingers across and inhale the scent of, and around his neck is a haphazardly done, skinny black tie, that hangs loosely from his neck and settles around his belly button. He finally makes his way up to the mans face and wishes he could just disappear into the cushions he’s sitting on, once he sees those eyes staring so intensely into him behind inch thick glasses and a confused, polite smile on his lips. His hair is an absolute mess of black curls, falling all around his face and framing him in a way that causes Eddie’s breath to hitch in his throat.

“No, I don’t believe so,” Eddie says bluntly because honestly, he can’t do this. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough to be caught staring, but to be staring at someone nestled so _deeply_ in his soul that it makes him sick to his stomach. Someone who left him. Someone who hurt him. Someone who doesn’t even recognize him.

The other man doesn’t waver, and keeps his eyes locked on Eddies so he can’t seem to get out of their grasp.

“I swear I know you from somewhere, do we have a class together? Usually I don’t forget a face like yours,” the other man says and Eddie can’t help but fucking scoff. Of course. His stupid jokes _._ They always were his defense mechanism, looks like he didn’t grow out of that habit. But he has to admit that hearing him talk about Eddies looks makes his heart flutter in a painful way.

_Wish you would’ve said that back then._

_No, Eddie, stop._

_Shut the fuck up._

_He doesn’t even remember you._

_Lie._

But he can’t fucking lie, not when Richies eyes are pulling him in so tightly and he can barely breathe around his clenched jaw and he wants so purely in that moment to return to when they were kids and his eyes always felt like home. When _he_ always felt like home.

“Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak, from Derry,” he says and feels his lungs tighten with each syllable. The other man seems to notice his tension, but at the same time is flooded with memory and a huge, shit eating grin breaks across his face.

“Eddie Kaspbrak! Holy shit man, how the hell—I mean, wow, what are the chances?” Richie runs a hand through his mess of hair and Eddie has to force himself not to follow the movements of his long fingers as they comb through the forest of curls. Eddie feels so embarrassed to even be looking at him this way, but not that surprised, given how unbelievably tied to him he was as a child. His heart jumps into his throat. He needs a fucking cigarette.

“Sorry, I have to be going,” Eddie hisses in a rush, standing and nearly knocking his laptop off the table, but of course, _of course,_ Richie reaches his stupidly long arms out to catch it before it clatters to the ground at their feet. “Thanks.”

He’s scooping his laptop from Richies hand when their fingers graze each other and Eddie needs to get _the fuck_ away from him right now or he’s going to explode. He disconnects his hard drive before ejecting it and curses himself before leaning down to unplug his charger and stuffing it in his bag as well. He’s brushing past Richies broad shoulders in a hurried stride when the other man reaches out and grabs Eddies wrist, gently, but assertively. Eddie shivers at the contact and tries to reason with himself that he doesn’t like the way Richie is touching him.

“Hey, sorry, I just…Can I come with you? It’s been years,” Richie says and releases Eddies wrist once he’s turned to look at him and stopped trying to run away.

_Yeah, five years._

_Five fucking years, asshole._

_You didn’t even tell me you were leaving._

“I’d really rather you didn’t, I’m in a hurry,” Eddie huffs, but he knows he isn’t going to win this, because he never won as a kid either. Richie was intoxicating to him, and he always got his way despite how much Eddie tried to fight it. He guesses he was never fighting as hard as he’d like to imagine. Richie seems to know this too because he smirks slightly.

“I can keep up,” he says.

_Incredibly long-legged asshole._

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, turning away again and heading out the double glass doors of the student lounge into the cool spring air. Immediately he reaches into his bag to grab his cigarettes, pulling one to his mouth and lighting it faster than he thinks he ever has before. The school has a no-smoking on campus rule, but for how many vapes the student body has he doesn’t really give a shit if anyone stops him about it. The rush of nicotine helps clear his head a bit and he inhales heavily with shaky fingers.

“Woah, Eddie you smoke? Didn’t you used to have like, wicked asthma attacks?” Richie asks with a laugh and Eddie wants to punch him in his fucking face. How dare he remember him so clearly all of a sudden when he didn’t even remember who he was five minutes ago. What gives him the right?

“Yeah, well, sometimes you just stop giving a shit,” Eddie says because it’s easier than the truth, taking another heavy inhale and watching as the ember crawls through the tunnels of packed tobacco. His head feels heavy but he holds in the breath as long as he can before slowly hissing out the smoke. He hears Richie chuckle beside him and sees out of the corner of his eye that the taller man takes a cigarette out himself and puts it between his lips to light it.

“I know the feeling,” Richie says through a cloud of smoke and Eddie finds it impossible not to watch the waves of grey flow from between his lips. Eddie scoffs. Of the two of them Richie should obviously be the smoker, so it doesn’t surprise him that he’s into the habit as well. Eddie remembers the first time he brought a cigarette out in front of his mother, how she screamed and told him if she ever saw him smoking again she’d lock him in his room until he promised to never do such a ridiculous thing again. He had laughed humorlessly and told her to leave him alone, and continued to smoke every day since despite her unholy nagging. It made him feel good. Powerful. Like something he was doing was finally pushing _her_ to her limits, and making her feel like her whole world was going to explode. Every time he puffed on a cigarette he would smile and look her in the eyes, blowing the smoke directly at her because he knew she loathed the smell. He can’t help but smile at the memory now.

What his mother never realized was that Eddie picked up the habit shortly after Richie had left, when things were especially bad.

“So, what brings you to Oregon?” Richie asks, interrupting Eddies internal monologue and Eddie feels himself jump at the sound and hopes Richie doesn’t notice.

“Well, I wanted to get basically as far away from Derry as possible,” he says simply, and Richie should understand that considering how he had left before anyone else. He takes another puff off his cigarette.

Richie laughs and Eddie wants to punch him again. “I feel that, I barely remember that god awful place.” Richie is keeping up with Eddie annoyingly easily despite the fact that Eddie is practically speed walking and he really, _really_ just wishes that he would leave him alone because he can’t do this, he can’t handle looking into this man’s face who meant so much to him for so long and then suddenly meant nothing and he didn’t even know why and he could never spend enough time stitching that hole back together in his heart. “I remember you, though.”

At that, Eddie slams on the brakes and it takes Richie a moment to catch up and double back to where he’s standing on the sidewalk glaring absolute fucking _daggers_ at him. “You, remember me? Fucking funny, I would have thought you’d have left the thought of me behind when you left _me._ ”

And Richies face does something Eddie can’t comprehend, it’s like a mixture of guilt and sadness and pain and Eddies throat tightens and it feels so good for a moment to see Richie hurt from his words.

“You’re right. I owed you more than that, Eds,” Richie says slowly and Eddie wants to rip his entire being to shreds for thinking he can just use his old nickname like the times haven’t changed. The times have changed and they’ve changed everything. Richie takes a seemingly desperate huff off his cigarette while running a hand through his hair and Eddie watches his movements so longingly and really _hates_ the fact that Richie still has this hold on him, he’s like a moth drawn to a flame and no matter how much it hurts he still flies into it every single time, and almost worst of all, Richie doesn’t seem to notice the other man’s feelings at all.

Eddie turns to leave again and feels as though this conversation, this nightmare more like, might be over. He gets a few steps ahead before he hears feet coming up behind him again and sighs.

“Don’t you understand that I don’t want to talk to you? You _left_ me, Richie, you left me when I absolutely needed you the most, and I cannot forgive you for that just because it’s been so long, because you know what? I’ve thought about it—“ Eddie stops himself because what the fuck is he doing? How pathetic he must seem to clue Richie in that he’s been obsessed with him still after all this time. Richie didn’t even recognize him. He didn’t even fucking recognize him and now he has the _audacity_ to follow him around and act like they’re still the best friends they used to be. Well, this is a situation that a simple, ‘wow, how have you been?’, won’t fix. No sir.

“Eddie I’m sorry, okay, I never meant to hurt you,” Richie says and Eddie can’t even respond he’s so angry. “Let me make it up to you, please?” And Richie almost sounds desperate now and it makes Eddies heart flutter again and god _damnit_ he needs to get his emotions in check because there’s no way he’s getting out of this alive this time around. But Richie is, no, _was,_ his everything and hearing the hurt and plea in his voice now sends Eddie’s mind on a whirlwind of emotion that he can barely comprehend. There’s something so powerful in Richie that Eddie doesn’t understand, and it always had controlled him this way, but he’s adamant to not let it control him now.

_Five. Fucking. Years._

_You’re pathetic, Eddie._

“How the hell do you expect to do that, Tozier?” Eddie hurls back, trying to increase his speed walk away but who is he kidding. Smoking cigarettes and having absolutely zero percent of a work out plan is really screwing him over this time.

“Well I can think of a couple different ways but most of them would require you taking your pants off and I’m not really sure we’re to that—“

Richie is cut off by Eddies fist slamming directly into his left cheek, and it’s probably a pretty painless punch to Richie, but Eddie’s hand immediately flares and he groans at the stinging pain in his thumb. Richie almost looks impressed and Eddie can’t handle the idea that Richie might laugh at him for being such a useless puncher so he turns away again with his thumb throbbing where he holds it against his chest.

“I like this new attitude you’ve got, Eds, but I’m going to have to actually teach you how to punch, you’d hate to have to use it on someone less charming than I am,” Richie is saying as he continues to follow Eddie and goddamnit it to hell if Eddie doesn’t miss this. He and Richie used to wrestle constantly and more often than not, Eddie would become too violent and accidentally hit Richie to the point of bruising or scratch him so he’d bleed. Richie was always a good sport about it and never retaliated on Eddie the same way, which Eddie always thought was the best thing in the world because he would have crumbled in his hands instantly.

“Oh, right, because I’m going to come across someone on this entire planet who deserves to be punched in the face less than you do,” Eddie sneers which earns him a laugh, and damnit he needs to get back to his apartment to put something on his hand and he can’t have Richie following him all the way there.

_Right?_

“Look, Eddie, I’m sorry, okay? I just couldn’t do it anymore. Derry was closing in on me and I knew if I didn’t get out then, I’d never be able to.” Richie seems to be talking more to himself at this point but Eddie is listening and waiting for him to say something that will redeem him, because honestly, he wants him to be redeemed, and he wants this pain to be over, and he can’t handle or believe the fact that Richie is actually here when he thought he’d never see him again. And that’s making Eddie think in a strange way. He wants to believe that Richie left for a good reason, and that it hurt him the same way it hurt Eddie. At least then he could accept the feelings he now has about wanting the man to be back in his life. Where he belongs.

“I used to plan on coming back to Derry and getting you, you know?” Richie says and Eddie once again is stopped in his tracks, causing Richie to bump into his back because he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Eddie asks incredulously, because he _must_ have heard him wrong.

“Eddie I thought about you all the time, I wanted to come back and get you, take you away from your horrible mother but the time was never right. Life just kept leading me forward I guess and I couldn’t bring myself to go back there,” Richie says and shrugs his shoulders. They’re so close together now that Eddie can see the stubble that never used to exist on Richies chin, and see how aged and tired his eyes have become. He almost seems to be decomposing. “Please, Eddie just let me make it up to you?”

And Eddie can’t think straight because who the hell does Richie think he is that he can just come back into his life like this and demand to be heard? It took Eddie so long to work towards getting over him leaving, and he _still_ hasn’t gotten over it. He’d barely spoken to anyone in town after Richie had left, and people noticed. His old friends would stop by his house and ask if he wanted to play and he would lie in his bed and ignore their questions, lucky for once that it was easy enough to get his mother to agree to send them away whenever they came knocking. His mother was desperately worried about him once he started to distance himself from her, and became more of a loner. He would sneak out at night and walk to Richie’s house, even though he knew he would never be there again, and sometimes he would hear Richie’s mother crying through an open window and would ask himself how Richie could do this to not only him, but to everyone else in his life. He would walk along the bridge which held their initials and remember what he had felt in that moment looking into Richie’s eyes like he would never let him go. The promise that those crass scratches held in the wood railing. But he did let him go, he took Eddie’s entire soul with him, and Eddie had never been the same since.

But what grapples through the other side of his mind, is that Richie was his everything, and now, somehow, he’s back. Somehow, through all of the more likely outcomes of this situation, Richie ended up in the same college as Eddie, on the opposite side of the country. He can’t let that opportunity get away.

“Fine. How are you going to do that, dipshit?” He says after a long exhale. He notices his cigarette had burned all the way down to the filter and died on its own.

Richie cracks a smile at the teasing, and, again, for a moment it almost feels like it used to. Two best friends against the world, before it quickly became the world against Eddie. “Dinner? I wasn’t kidding about the pants thing, we’ll just have to work up to that,” Richie teases in response and Eddie can’t help it when his heart flutters in his chest again.

“You’re asking me on a date?” Eddie asks to be sure, because it sounds like Richie is hitting on him but that can’t be what’s happening, right? Richie just talks like this to people, he used to anyway. It didn’t mean anything, it was just a joke.

“If you’ll let me,” Richie says. “I’m serious, I need to start making up all this lost time with you.”

And what the fuck Eddie isn’t made of stone and he sure as hell just wants to believe for the time being that Richie really wants to be around him again, and in some sick, twisted, way that’s enough for him right now.

Eddie sighs and nods his head but before he can say anything else, Richie has his fingers on Eddies good palm and is scrawling his phone number onto the back of his hand and Eddie feels dizzy all at once while he watches the pen scribble into his skin. Richie looks up at him with those eyes that seem to see the world a different way and winks at him, causing him to flush bright red, which he’s sure Richie notices.

“Call me,” Richie says, and it’s less of a question and more of a demand, but who is Eddie kidding, he’s going to fucking call.

Without another glance, Richie is heading back towards the student lounge, pulling his leather jacket tighter around his shoulders. Eddie looks down at this hand where the digits are scrawled in blue ink, and lets out a shaky exhale before fishing out another cigarette and heading back to his apartment to ice his hand.

—

—

Penny meets him at the door, her blue eyes glittering softly with the reflection from the hallway lights. She mews up at Eddie when he steps inside and he leans down to pet her grey head with his good hand. The hand he punched Richie with is still throbbing, so he heads towards the freezer for an ice pack, and notices the rum in the freezer door and pulls that out as well. Shots make everything better, right? He moves to take a seat on the couch and wraps the ice pack around his thumb which he’s pretty sure is sprained. With his good hand he unscrews the top of the rum bottle and flicks the cap off, taking a pull that immediately dims the pain and heats his insides. Penny jumps up on his lap but gets one whiff of the rum before moving to sit on the cushion beside him. She doesn’t like his drinking.

It seems like he’s there by himself for only a few minutes before Beverly opens the apartment door and pushes herself in with a groan.

“Drinking already are we, Eddie?” She asks when she sees the bottle sitting between him and the cat.

“Rough day,” Eddie assures her and takes another pull.

“Ooh can’t wait for this story,” Beverly says and goes to take her light jacket off and hang it on the rack beside the door. It must have started raining, (utterly surprising, given the climate of Oregon), because Bev shakes her short red hair and droplets fly around her. Eddie has a moment to truly look at Beverly as she shifts herself through the apartment and gets settled. He loves her new hair, she recently chopped it into a nice, short bob that lands around her jawline and creeps up to a shaved undercut in the back. She had been talking about doing it for months and Eddie finally had a sort of break down and told her if she didn’t figure out what the fuck she was doing with her hair he was cutting it himself while she was sleeping and he was serious. She had laughed at the time but cut it the next day. She kicks off her big Docs and puts them by the door on the little rug they have for shoes, exposing her mismatched black and white polka dot sock and bright orange sock. Eddie had had a real bitch of a time getting over the fact that Beverly didn’t match her socks and she had gotten quite a kick out of the arguments they’d have about it after leaving the laundromat.

“So, what happened?” She says simply as she bounces down between Eddie and Penny on the couch. The couch is honestly more of a love seat so she sort of ends up on Eddie’s lap, not that it’s uncommon between them. When they moved in together after meeting through a craigslist ad, they found that they had a very sibling-esque dynamic, despite both of them being only children. It was probably the quickest Eddie had ever bonded with someone…besides Richie anyway.

Eddie takes a deep sigh and pats her on the knee where her ripped jeans show exposed, pale skin. “Remember me talking about my friend from back home?”

Beverly’s eyes grow large and she definitely should remember because Eddie has gotten stoned off his ass and told her the whole story enough times that she could practically rewrite it herself. It usually starts with Eddie smoking a bowl himself and then packing one for the both of them to share, before laying facedown on the living room floor. Beverly would eventually turn on some sappy music that Eddie always disagreed with and after a few more hits he’s a gushing mess of ‘how could he?’s and ‘god I miss his stupid self.’s.

Eddie takes her expression as an invitation to continue and recites the events of the day that had arguably been one of the most emotionally conflicting days of his life. When Richie had walked into the student lounge, Eddie had literally felt his heart jump into his throat and had to push aside the urge to bolt straight out of there. Richie had been so nonchalant—so _Richie,_ just as he always was in Eddie’s memories of him—walking to the cafe counter and ordering a ‘black coffee, just black, thanks’. Eddie had watched him wait at the end of the counter, his fists jammed into the pockets of his absurdly long jeans, and his foot tapping away like he was listening to something no one else could hear. When he finally got his drink, he thanked the older lady at the counter with a bow and she had giggled, and Eddie had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes as the other man took his seat at the high top.

“And then he just came up to me and was completely chill about the whole thing, he didn’t even _recognize_ me, Bev!” Eddie yelps and takes another swig.

“What an ass,” Beverly agrees, taking the rum from his hand and taking a pull herself. “So you forgave him?”

“ _Fuck_ no, he is not forgiven,” Eddie says, but Beverly’s eyes catch the number on his hand and she raises her eyebrows at him expectantly. “He is not forgiven, but what was I supposed to do, tell him to go fuck himself? He’s got me too emotionally scarred for that.”

“That’s probably what I would have done,” she shrugs and Eddie snorts.

“Yes, but you’re a bad person.”

“Oh please, and you’re not?”

“Touché.”

They both laugh and take more drinks and by the time Penny is stretching and jumping off the couch, heading over to her food bowl for dinner, the sun is starting to set through the windows and Eddie has to get up—the alcohol whirling in his bloodstream as he becomes vertical—to close the blinds. Honestly he knows there was no other way this day could have gone, there was not even a chance of him leaving without having a way of contacting Richie because Richie was _his_ and if this was his one lucky chance in life to get him back, he was going to take it. Though Richie didn’t seem to remember the bond they had shared as kids, Eddie was sure as hell going to remind him.

He walks over to scoop out Penny’s food and then returns to the couch, flopping down drunkly and laying his head in Bev’s lap. “I just…I’ve just missed him so much,” he whispers and she runs a hand through his hair.

“I know, honey, truly you should be thanking whoever’s looking out for you because most people don’t get a chance like this,” she says and he knows, okay, he fucking knows. It doesn’t make it any less painful.

“No one’s looking out for me,” he says, quietly enough that he doesn’t think Bev will hear but then she sighs and he knows he’s upset her.

“You need to stop being so hard on yourself, Eddie, it’s painful to watch.” With that she moves him slightly to sneak out from underneath his head and goes to the kitchen to busy herself with dinner; he curses himself for always doing this.

Eddie doesn’t know exactly when he started behaving as if his life didn’t matter, but it actually wasn’t the moment when Richie left. Sure, that sparked the flame of Eddie throwing more caution to the wind, as opposed to previously when his life he had spent doing the exact opposite. But when he looks back, it was much more of a slow burn, a few occasions here and there that proved he was over the idea of being alive, because what did he have to live for anymore? Richie was gone, his mother was a horrible, screaming mess towards the end, Eddie had stopped seeing his other friends and reverted to spending most of his time indoors, more often than not just staring at his ceiling from where he’d lay in his bed. After he started buying overpriced cigarettes off of Bowers and his shitty, neanderthal friends, he experimented with alcohol, which was easier to get ahold of because the local gas station sold liquor and the manager rarely checked IDs before nine pm. He’d sit outside his house at night, on the front porch or on the swing set in back where he and Richie used to spend their afternoons, sipping away at the poison until he felt his head rush and then would stumble back inside, some nights drinking enough that he’d end up over the toilet and his mother would bang on the locked door until he screamed so hard through the pain in his throat for her to go away that she’d leave him alone until the next morning. Stupid bitch never even found out he was drinking, it was always ‘stomach flu’, and he’d end up out of school for the next two days or so. 

After he moved away from Derry things got a little better but not much. The ease of attaining drugs and using them in a college setting was too easy to ignore. It started with weed, of course, a couple hits here and there, just to mellow the pain, but then he started buying grams that he’d smoke faster than he thought possible, and really just lose himself in his thoughts. He’d stay up way too late smoking and drinking, and more often than not, would miss his earlier afternoon classes, luckily they didn’t have an attendance portion of the grade because the class size was too large to count them all. After he was comfortable enough with weed he started to take over the counter pain killers that were simple enough for him to attain and let him actually go through his day without attracting too much attention. Eddie still hadn’t really creeped into hard drug territory, aside from the occasional hits of coke with Bev or the late night mushroom micro-doses.

And Eddie was okay with this. He was okay to watch himself fall apart and do nothing to stop it, and he knew, since he really only had one friend, that nothing _could_ stop him from destroying himself this way. It made him feel alive, it made his lonely existence more tolerable. He always knew, but never could admit to himself that the reason he was so pathetically alone, was because the one person he ever truly cared about, had left and never come back.

Bev started to notice that something beyond typical college partying was going on with Eddie, and she’d pry into him and try to help, but Eddie was venomous enough while sober, she was typically pretty upset with him by the end of the conversation if he was on something. Eddie convinced himself a long time ago that this was more for Beverly’s own mental stability, and that she wanted to help him to prove to herself that she _could_ , not to actually see him get better. Bev was in school to become a drug and alcohol counselor, and she just so happened to move in with the perfect test subject.

Eddie groans because he’s not nearly drunk enough to be a complete asshole and pulls himself off the couch with a wicked head rush before walking over to the kitchen to Beverly’s side.

“Hey, I’m sorry, okay, I don’t mean to make you upset,” he says and she doesn’t look at him. He wonders who this conversation is really for, her or himself.

“It’s not me you need to apologize to,” she says plainly, and turns to look him in the eyes with her big, beautiful, green orbs that read so much pain for Eddie. “I just wish I could help you.” He can barely hold her gaze before she turns on her heels and walks to her room, closing the door behind her. Eddie puts his hand to his forehead and rubs at his temples where a migraine is starting to bloom and feels a small creature rub beside his leg.

“You’d never give me the silent treatment would you?” He looks down at his fluffy, grey friend and she mews up at him, seeming to agree and making him giggle. He’s almost forgotten about his thumb hurting through the haze of alcohol so he puts the ice pack back in the freezer and washes his hands, intentionally careful not to wipe away the phone number. He figures he should at least have some food in his stomach in order to avoid vomiting later, and grabs two granola bars from his cabinet before stumbling his way into his room. He closes his door after Penny follows him inside and clicks on his bedside lamp. His room looks sick. Tired _._ There are piles of clothes in each corner, one clean pile, one dirty, one to be worn again, and one of sweaters that sit on his bed until he takes their spot. Even in his apathetic state, he’s remained organized. He moves over to the bed and pushes them to the floor while Penny jumps up to her typical window spot and curls into a ball. He envies her, he never gets to sleep that quickly.

Laying down on his bed he looks at his phone, the light hurting his eyes slightly in the dim room, and goes to his contacts to type in Richie’s phone number. He still can barely believe this afternoon happened, it feels so distant and foggy at this point. Richie had been everything he remembered him as, yet completely different in every way. The way he spoke and moved and _felt_ was so purely Richie and it made Eddie’s mind ache to think about how he used to get him like that all the time, and with the excitement that he would maybe get him back again.

He types in Richie’s number and hits save before a genuinely drunk idea hits him, which is to look up Richies social media and be a fucking snoop. Because honestly, Eddie feels like he owes him that for abandoning him and leaving him with this hole in his chest, he owes him an explanation as to what was so great that he had to leave.

Pulling up an incognito tab on his phone, he heads to Facebook first and types in “Richie Tozier”, to his surprise a couple different faces show up in his area, but he obviously finds his Richie easily. His profile photo is a full body shot next to a big window, and the photographer in Eddie appreciates that it’s actually a pretty decent phone camera shot. He’s wearing tight black jeans again, but this pair has rips in the knees and a series of buttons replacing a zipper. He has on really cute, black, glossy boots that Eddie finds himself envying, and a suit jacket over an uncovered chest, with another fucking tie wrapped loosely around his neck, that he’s pulling to one side with his long fingers. Eddie can see some tattoos on Richie’s chest and towards his clavicles, but can’t make out what they are from the photo and has a craving thought that he’d like to see them up close. When he makes his way to his face his breath hitches as he sees the other man staring at him from above his thick ass glasses, pure seduction in his eyes and curls dangling in front of his vision.

Eddie’s astonished. This new, grown up Richie is so… _gorgeous_. Eddie always thought Richie was cute as a kid, in a sort of nerdy way, but he really grew into his looks and Eddie wonders if Richie feels the same way when he looks at Eddie now.

_Of course not, why would he?_

_Just because you have this obsession with him doesn’t mean he feels the same way._

_That should be clear after today._

_He didn’t even_ recognize _you for fucks sake._

Eddie tries to shake away the slurring voice in his head and clicks through Richie’s photos, which are mostly the same, lots of full body shots in various outfits that Eddie is impressed with and wonders if Richie is studying fashion. There are a couple close ups of him with a guitar that make Eddie snort because he can see that he’s trying to look like such a badass. There are a couple with him and a few other guys, all at parties from the looks of it, but they don’t look like the type of guys Richie would hang out with, or, the Richie that he knew wouldn’t. He comes to the last of his profile photos and gulps at the eyes glaring back at him through the screen, the pools of deep blue feel like Eddie could swim in them for a lifetime and never get tired.

_Shut_ the fuck _up!_

_Like you haven’t spent the last five years trying to erase this asshole?!_

_Now he just has this control over you again?_

_Shut the fuck up, Eddie._

Richie just looks so fucking good in this photo, and it feels so much more like the Richie he used to know than the others and he feels his heart rate elevate because he just can’t believe this insufferable boy is back in his life and he can’t believe he’s falling for him again after everything and he can’t believe he didn’t bring the fucking rum to bed because, shit, he fucking needs it and before he has time to stop himself his hand is in the front of his pants and he’s rubbing the tip of his cock and it feels so out of his control and he just stares into Richie’s eyes and moans quietly.

_My Richie._

He leans up in bed to pull his pants down and lift his shirt off in a drunken stupor so he can pull his now erect dick out and it flops heavily against his bare skin as he leans back in bed. With his good hand, the hand that Richie grabbed, the hand that has Richie’s phone number on it, the hand Richie _touched,_ he pumps his cock and lets out little moans in the back of his throat, not breaking eye contact with the face on the screen. As the pumping gets faster and faster he breaks away to grab his balls and squeeze them roughly between his thigh and his palm and his eyes flutter closed but he still sees Richie’s face behind his lids and he can almost pretend he’s there with him, telling him he’ll make it up to him, telling him he’ll never leave again.

Eddie can feel himself becoming embarrassingly close to cumming and his whole body is shaking all over and he doesn’t remember the last time he was this fucking hot and feral and _hungry_ and he wonders if he ever has been before but the thought quickly disappears when his imagination of Richie grabs his dick and starts rubbing it, ghosting his fingers across the head and smearing his pre-cum all the way down the shaft to make his entire cock so much easier to work, all the while imagining it’s Richies hand. He imagines Richie moving in closer to him until his lips are at his throat and he can feel how soft and gentle they are before they bite down into the soft flesh of his neck and Eddie can barely stifle a deep groan as the imaginary pain makes his cock jump in his hand and he keeps pumping, faster, faster, faster—

_I wanted to come back and get you,_ he hears the memory of Richies words in his ears, his voice, so deep and foreign, but Richie all the same. It hurts so bad and yet makes him feel so good. His eyes fly open and stare into the photo on the screen, study the curvature of Richie’s lips, the harshness of his cheek bones, the deep blue of his eyes. His eyes, the only eyes he’s ever wanted to watch him this way.

Before he can stop himself his insides clench and release and he’s shooting hot cum up his chest and making harsh little gasps deep in his throat and all he can see is Richie watching him and touching him and _being there._ It’s all so much and Eddie has to fight to regain his breath as the last waves of pleasure course through his being, threatening to drown him in their depths. When he can finally catch his breath and the image of Richie starts to fade in his mind, he screenshots the photo, setting it as Richie’s contact picture.

He leans off the bed, careful not to make a mess of himself and grabs a pair of socks from the clean pile—he doesn’t want to use dirty socks to clean up his mess— and starts wiping himself clean before tossing them into the dirty pile. With a deep exhale he falls back into his pillows and kicks off his pants where they sit around his ankles and lays there naked, the cool breeze from the window sending goose bumps up his flesh. He feels sick to his stomach and can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or what he just did, but he reaches over to his bedside table and grabs his half smoked bowl and hopes it will help calm the storm.

_I can’t believe I just jerked off to a photo of my childhood best friend who up until today I’ve spent years loathing._

He hates that in this moment he doesn’t hate Richie at all, not for every wonderful memory of their childhood spent inseparable, every touch that went unspoken of, or for every needle prick in his brain whenever he remembered the other boy, or the weight of the world crashing down around him when he thought he’d never see him again. Not for any of it. And he can’t help but laugh at himself, because really, that was so unlike him. It felt so wrong, but so right and almost like he’d been building up to it for so long now.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand his sexuality, he did, and he had gotten comfortable with it a long time ago. It was pretty obvious when he’d be watching Pokemon or Star Wars and have a crush on Ash instead of Misty or Han Solo instead of Princess Leia. It was just…there was never the right person, or the right situation or the right feeling. There was never the push of “I’d like to have sex”, it always seemed overrated. The first time he had touched himself he cried afterwards because he was disappointed that it wasn’t as mind-blowing as he’d been led to believe by modern media. But this time, this time it was different, this time he could feel himself aching to be touched, and even so soon after finishing, he stills wants (Richie’s) hands on him.

He takes a hit off of his bowl and feels his stomach settle a bit before clicking his phone back on and sending Richie a friend request before he comes down too much to think twice. Within minutes he gets the notification that Richie has accepted the request and smiles despite himself because he feels like for once in his miserable, lonely life, he has the upper hand. He’s aimlessly scrolling through his Facebook feed and munching on his granola bar when his message notification beeps at him.

_Richie Tozier: What, did you lose my number already, Eds?_

Eddie smirks because fuck it’s almost making him giddy how much he feels like he’s in control of the situation, and the fact that _Richie_ texted _him_ instead of the other way around, like Richie couldn’t wait to talk to him or that Richie was somehow nervous and feeling the need to impress Eddie.

_Eddie Kaspbrak: We can’t all live on a strict diet of not washing our hands for hours on end._

Richie sends him back a laughing emoticon and Eddie is subconsciously relieved that he can still joke with Richie this way.

_Richie Tozier: Well it’s a good thing you found me, I was starting to get worried you were going to flake out on me._

_How’s your hand feeling?_

_My cheek is swollen, but I think it’s because of how much I’ve been crying that you hit me instead of the punch itself ;)_

Eddie rolls his eyes.

_Eddie Kaspbrak: My hand is fine thanks, nothing a little hard liquor can’t solve._

_Richie Tozier: Wow, you really have changed._

_Drinking ALCOHOL._

_Smoking CIGARETTES._

_Eddie, did no one tell you? Those are cancer sticks, dude._

_Eddie Kaspbrak: Don’t you listen, asshole? I told you sometimes you stop giving a shit._

There’s a pause in text bubbles and Eddie almost hopes he didn’t hurt Richie’s feelings in some way but then realizes he doesn’t really care because Richie has done nothing but hurt his feelings for the last five years. Time for some of his own medicine. He munches down on the remainder of his granola bar, and now the munchies are kicking in so he breaks the seal on the second one as well.

After what feels like a very long time, but is probably only moments, the three text dotsappear again and Eddies breathing returns to normal.

_Richie Tozier: So, when are we doing this date, cutie?_

Eddie can’t believe Richies arrogance. He always admired him for it as a kid, the fact that he would just say anything that came to his head. It was helpful for some things, not so helpful for others, there had been multiple occasions where Eddie had been a quarter short of his ice cream cone and Richie would see the teary look he’d get in his eyes because he knew his mother wouldn’t give him more change. Richie would usually swoon the high school girl behind the counter with his silver tongue and she would agree to give it to him for less, with blushes staining her cheeks. Eddie always pretended that he hated when Richie would baby him like that, but it felt so good to have him take so much care of him when no one else ever had. It never occurred to him that Richie talked to him like that most of all. _Cutie. Baby. Honey._ He was all of those things truthfully to Richie, no one else. Now he’s almost offended that Richie thinks he’s that easy. Or, he’s offended that he _is_ that easy.

_Eddie Kaspbrak: Well I doubt you actually go to school here so your schedule is probably a lot clearer than mine._

_Richie Tozier: *laughing emoticon* I do actually go to school here. Believe it or not I don’t just come by for the overpriced, watered down coffee._

_Eddie Kaspbrak: You could have fooled me, Richard. What are you studying?_

_Richie Tozier: Ooh,_ Richard _, didn’t realize we were on full name basis, I just got butterflies in my stomach._

Eddie fucking snorts at that and slaps a hand to his forehead in disbelief. How is this really happening, and why does he feel giddy like a high schooler?

_Short version, history. Long version, fashion design and designer history and cultural impacts of body modification over time._

_Eddie Kaspbrak: That wasn’t a very long story._

_Richie Tozier: Lol, I mean I guess I’d rather talk to you in person about stuff like this. I can’t even see your pretty brown eyes._

Eddie feels his dick pulse slightly and lets out a small laugh to himself, oh what Richie would say if he knew Eddie was laying naked in bed after masturbating to a photo of his own face. It might just make him combust, Eddie thinks, and then thinks how good that makes him feel. He doesn’t know how Richie expects him to respond in this situation; it’s almost eleven by now, an hour after campus officially closes.

_Do you want to come over?_

Eddie’s breath hitches in his throat.

_I mean, don’t feel obligated or anything. It’s totally cool._

His head is spinning and doesn’t realize how much time had passed since the first message. Fucking weed. He rereads the messages to make sure he read them right, and yes, Richie is definitely inviting him to his place. But what the hell, there’s no way that’s anything more than being polite. Right? Richie wouldn’t invite him over for any other reason, least of all something raunchy. Eddie gulps. Fuck it.

_Eddie Kaspbrak: Where do you live?_

Richie sends him his address and tells him he’ll meet him downstairs at the complex, “ _just text me when you get here, baby doll_ ’. Eddies whole body feels like it’s vibrating, partially because of nerves, mostly because of excitement. This is still so surreal to him and he really doesn’t know what he’s doing, or what the fuck Richie is up to, because this is just too good to be true and he can feel the anxiety bubbling in his chest that this will be some sort of sick joke that Richie is trying to get him to come over just to shit on his life more than he already has.

Richies apartment building is only a few blocks away, and Eddie’s glad he made the decision to live off campus once again. Having to get through campus on the way would have easily added another ten minutes to the walk. He had felt dirty after touching himself earlier, so he showered off quickly and redid his hair so it didn’t lie quite as weirdly and hoped Richie wouldn’t notice if it was still damp by the time he arrived. Could always blame it on the rain. He had pulled on his favorite black heather henley shirt, maroon bomber jacket—hopeful that it would be enough to keep him warm—and a pair of faded grey jeans from the clean pile in his room, unintentionally checking himself out in his full length mirror before heading out.

The air is cool but it’s not bad considering the time of night and the season, the rain thankfully had stopped, and he makes his way to the multistory complex in about ten minutes, not like he was counting. He smokes a cigarette on the way there, and puts it out in the ashtray outside the front door before pulling out his phone and letting Richie know he’s downstairs. A few seconds later Richies head pokes through the front door and Eddie jumps, which makes Richie laugh as he leads him inside.

“Waiting for me?” Eddie says, checking out the interior of the lobby. It’s about as shabby as he expected it to be, a little less clean than his own apartment.

“Of course, I wouldn’t be a gentleman otherwise,” Richie grins and leads Eddie to the elevators at the end of the hallway. Eddie takes a moment to look at Richie and is again in shock that he’s standing here next to him, and subtly pinches himself on the thigh to prove to himself that he isn’t dreaming.

They ride the elevator in silence and Eddie can feel the heat radiating off of Richie and watches from his peripherals as his chest rises and falls. Richie is wearing the same outfit as earlier, that fucking tie still dangling around his neck. He finds himself wanting to pull on it and just see what happens. Standing still next to him makes him realize again how much taller he is than Eddie, and if he cared just slightly more he would be embarrassed by the difference. Suddenly the elevator comes to a halt on the third floor and Eddie is overcome with paranoia of meeting Richie’s roommates.

“Um, is anyone else home?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant even though his palms are sweating.

“Nope, just me, champ. Why, do you want to get me alone?” Richie winks at him as the doors open and he leads him down the dimly lit hallway to his door. Richies apartment is small, a studio, about half the size of Eddies, so he supposes it makes sense that he lives alone. It’s mostly just one large room, there’s a kitchen off to one side that doesn’t hold much more than a fridge and a sink, and across from that, a small bathroom with a single stall shower and a toilet with the lid up. Richie has a double sided book shelf as a divider in the apartment and it cuts off what Eddie would assume to be the “dining room” and the “bedroom” from each other. There’s a small coffee table with two chairs on one side of the book shelf and a mattress with no box spring on the other, with a small bedside table beside it. On the far wall of the “bedroom” is a large wooden wardrobe that takes up most of the additional space.

“It’s nice here,” Eddie says, and he actually sort of means it. It’s very Richie.

“You don’t have to be nice it can’t hear you,” Richie says and Eddie laughs slightly before holding it back.

_Keep your guard up, Eddie you idiot._

_Why can’t I just be happy that I’m here?_

_Because he_ left you.

_He could leave again, you know._

“Want anything to drink?” Richie asks before sitting down on one of the chairs. Eddie shrugs and follows suit, taking the other seat. He probably shouldn’t have anymore alcohol, he’s still feeling pretty buzzed, but he wants to anyway, because who gives a shit. Richie grabs him a beer—easily his least favorite type of beverage—but he cracks it open and sips at it regardless. “Hey, I just wanted to tell you I really appreciate you giving me another chance, I know I don’t deserve one.”

Eddie smiles slightly but there’s no heart behind it. He doesn’t even know if he agrees with his own decision. “Don’t make me regret it,” is what he lands on in response and Richie laughs.

“Don’t intend to,” Richie says and leans over to one of his kitchen cabinets and pulls out a small bottle that Eddie recognizes as a prescription bottle. “Molly?” Richie asks with his eyebrow quirked.

Eddie almost laughs because it seems like such a drug that Richie would ask him to do so they’d have sex, but that would be ridiculous. Eddie hadn’t experimented much with Molly, he tends to lean more towards the depressors than the uppers. But, since he doesn’t give a shit, and since he’s here with Richie, and since he still feels like he’s going to wake up from some sort of evil fever dream and since he’s still riding a subtle high from smoking and can feel the courage of alcohol in his veins, he shrugs and takes the pill Richie offers him before Richie takes his own.

Richie holds up his end of the bargain and explains in more detail what he’s studying, which Eddie actually finds himself being interested in. Turns out Richie wants to become a professor himself, specializing in body modification throughout different cultures around the world and how America adopts different practices. He explains that he got his tongue pierced right when he started high school, and it got infected so badly they had to put him on antibiotics for months, which drove his desire to learn everything he could about why people modify themselves. Eddie retaliates by saying that he’s never had any sort of body modification done and Richie grins. When he asks Eddie what he studies he says photography and Richie seems to notice that he doesn’t care to discuss it so he changes the topic to ask about where Eddie lives, if he has roommates, how long he’s been in school, what he plans on doing once he’s out of school…Eddie answers them all to the best of his ability but feels almost like he’s talking to a guidance counselor. Eddie hasn’t planned far enough ahead to know most of the answers. All he wants to do is ask Richie the burning question of why he left, and what happened afterwards, but he can’t bring himself to.

“Do you play guitar?” Eddie asks when he notices the acoustic guitar leaning beside Richies bed. By this time it’s about one thirty in the morning and Eddie just needs to find something to take the conversation off of himself.

“Technically. I doubt I’m any good, but it’s fun. Is your next question if I’ll play something for you?” Richie jokes and Eddie desperately wants to disagree with him just to prove that he’s not a know-it-all asshole but can’t bring himself to because he does want to hear Richie play, he really does. So he plays off a nonchalant shrug as best as he can and Richie sees right through that shit and grins at him before grabbing the guitar and sitting on the edge of his bed to start getting it in tune. “Any requests?”

Eddie shakes his head so Richie just chuckles and starts playing various chords, slowly at first, just testing the waters it seems, before elaborating on more of a cohesive tune and actually _playing._ Eddie feels his mouth fall open and realizes eventually that the Molly is kicking in and something in the sound of each strum sends sound waves through his soul and he can’t fucking take his eyes away from Richie’s fingers as they dance across the neck of the guitar. He tries to stop himself but the waves lift him to his feet and carry him to the bed where Richie sits, plopping down and feeling very much like a water droplet falling into a puddle. Richie laughs but continues to play, the tune turning into something faster and deeper and Eddie melts into the notes as they hit his ears. He doesn’t realize how close he’s leaning into Richie until the other man messes up a chord and curses, jolting Eddie back to a more acceptable distance.

“I think you’re really fucking good,” Eddie blurts before he can stop himself.

“Well thanks, you feeling good?” Richie asks with a laugh, turning to look Eddie in the eyes like he can read his mind through them.

“I’m great,” Eddie says and Richie’s face looks so kind and soft and beautiful and Eddie wants to stare at him for the rest of eternity and he _still can’t fucking believe that Richie is here_ and that he’s actually hanging out with him and it feels so right and good and Eddie actually wants to be alive again for the first time in ages. It’s all thanks to Richie. All Eddie wants to do in this moment is lean in and connect them, somehow, in anyway he can, because suddenly the fact that he isn’t touching Richie is all too much.

He feels his body moving without his permission and he falls toward the other man, who thankfully expected his movement enough to dodge his falling body. Immediately Eddie’s standing up, realizing what his subconscious just tried to have him do, and he’s pacing and apologizing because _fuck_ of course he would ruin this somehow.

_God fucking damnit._

_You piece of shit._

_Why are you like this, he doesn’t feel that way about you!_

_Leave him alone._

He’s slapping himself on the forehead with each insult his brain concocts and Richie stands up and grabs his hands, pulling them down to his waist and telling him to ‘calm down, hey honey it’s alright, do you need some water, it’s okay, really’. Without being able to look away, Eddie is staring into Richie’s eyes again and feels himself getting lost in them, deep black pupils are dilated nearly the entire length of his iris’ and Eddie has to tell himself it’s because of the drugs. He does _not_ feel the same way. He does not want to reach a hand behind Eddies neck and pull him into his chest and caress the side of his cheek with his thumb and hold their lips a breath away and make it last for an ungodly long time before closing the distance and brushing their lips together and making everything okay.

He doesn’t, but Eddie does.

Richie waves a hand in front of his face when he hasn’t moved in a while and Eddie shakes his head, moving out of Richies grasp.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean to do that,” Eddie says, heading towards the door like a scared animal. He needs to get out of here or he’s going to do something he’ll regret later. Richie grabs his wrist again, much like he did earlier that same day, (fuck, this is possibly the longest day of Eddies life), and pulls him into a hug. The point of contact on Eddies wrist has his insides twisting with tension because he remembers how he likes the way Richie grabs him and holds him, likes the way he feels like he belongs to him. His face gets smooshed into Richie’s pectorals and the other mans chin rests on top of his head. It helps because Eddie can’t see his eyes anymore and he literally suctions himself to Richies body because the contact feels so fucking good, like his skin is covered in velvet, and Eddie can smell Richies scent, cigarettes and pine and leather and in that moment he wants to do nothing more than beg for more of him.

“Little bit of a light weight, huh?” Richie says with a laugh and Eddie feels the pulse of his laughter drum through his body and finds himself laughing with it as well because he can’t stop himself. “Do you wanna lay down, Eds?”

Eddie nods against Richie’s shoulder and the taller of the two walks him over to the bed and lays him down softly. Once again Eddie feels like he’s melting into the sea of blankets. Richie disappears from his vision for a moment and Eddie feels very alone, and very exposed. The drugs are pulsing through his body, making all his limbs feel disjointed, and without Richie there to ground him, he feels like he might just float away. He tries to find his voice to call out for him, anything to bring him back to his body, but can’t seem to locate his voice outside of his head. The lights in the room click off, jolting Eddie inside of his body and forcing his eyes to strain to find Richie in the blackness. When his eyes adjust he can see there is still a hint of light shining through the window behind Richie’s bed, must be a light pole outside, and Eddie finds Richie shuffling through his apartment. Much to his relief, Richie returns soon after with a glass of water and a vile of some dusty looking material. He lays down next to him to put a couple fingers over Eddies wrist, which Eddie is too relieved at the feeling of to realize that he’s checking his pulse. Once Richie seems satisfied he links his fingers through Eddies and holds them there.

“Are you okay? Is this okay?” He asks in a whisper and he’s either much closer to Eddie’s ear than he thought or his hearing is super powered because of the drugs, but either way he’s nodding so quickly he thinks he might sprain his neck. Richie laughs and Eddie feels his breath against his neck and shivers. His laugh sounds like music. He takes Eddie’s hand in his and raises it to their faces, tapping out a bit of the dusty material onto the back of Eddie’s hand. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, or at least, he tries to, and Richie smiles back at him softly. “Just something to help you sleep.”

Eddie shrugs, fizzling too much throughout his whole being to question more than that, and plugs his nostril with his free hand before snorting the substance directly into his bloodstream. He feels the wave of relaxation instantly, heightened by how good he already feels, and he knows he’s going to pass out. “Try to get some sleep, cutie, you’ll feel better in the morning.” He hears Richie say it but he suddenly feels so distant, like a dream himself.

Eddie smiles more to himself and holds onto the feeling of Richie’s hand in his and remembers how comfortable this always used to be and how thankful he is that it’s happening again. He wonders if Richie is feeling as good as he is right now, and if he is, how he handles it so much better. He really hopes he does feel the same, because he doesn’t want this to be a one time occurrence. As sleep continues to weigh heavy on his eyelids all he can think is how this might be what it feels like to be whole again.


	2. Touch me I'm golden, and wild as the wind blows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Let's Get Lost by Beck and Bat For Lashes.
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this so far! Kudos and comments fuel me endlessly so thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave a ray of sunshine <3

When Eddie wakes up it takes him a moment to remember there’s a body beside him. At first it’s awkward, and kind of scary, but exhilarating at the same time. He can see the other body moving rhythmically under the sheets and wants to reach out an arm and wrap it around him; hold him close and never let him go. But he doesn’t, because why would he? He leans his head to the other side to stare out the window where delightful, warm sunlight bathes the entire room in orange and Eddie smiles to himself. Next to the bed, on the floor, is the sleeping bag that never was used, still in its perfect condition that Eddie made it to be the night before. Eddie remembers how Richie had joked with him and told him he shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor, ’because you’re the guest’, and Eddie had called him a pervert or something of that nature and Richie had laughed and pulled Eddie into bed with him and they tickled each other and laughed until tears stung their eyes.

He guesses he must have just fallen asleep there after they had been awake making shadow puppets on the ceiling for an hour, and slept so well that he didn’t even remember the sleeping bag waiting for him. He moves the covers off of his skinny legs, careful not to jostle Richie too much, and moves off the bed to go to his overnight bag. He’s still wearing his socks and is amazed at himself for being able to fall asleep while they were still on, and even more so, not kicking them off in the night. He digs a wedgie out of his butt-crack before dropping to his knees and carefully unzipping his bag, pulling out his handful of routine morning pills, (mostly vitamins and a couple types of pain killers that his mother insists he use. He’s not sure why.), and tiptoes to the bathroom to get a glass of water. He can smell coffee brewing downstairs and knows Richies parents must be awake by now; he’ll have to head out soon to avoid getting caught sneaking out the window.

By the time he’s back in the room, Richie is awake and sitting up in his bed, and Eddie can’t help but snort because his hair is fucking mess. It flops in tangled curls all around his sleepy face, making him look so much younger, more innocent. Without his glasses on, Richie’s eyes look small and tired, with bits of eye boogers creased on the inner corners. When Eddie makes his way back over to the bed, Richie’s putting his thick glasses on and grinning at Eddie like he just heard the greatest news in the world.

“Hey, Eddie, can you open your eyes for me, honey?” Richie’s voice says and Eddie winces at the sound as it breaks his memory. All of his muscles feel like they were melted overnight and his head is swimming in a frontal headache and the _last_ thing he wants to do is open his eyes because sometimes daylight is just too harsh. “Eddie, I just need to know you’re okay.” He feels a hand on his wrist, feeling for his pulse, and Eddie pulls it away sharply. He moans grumpily and Richie chuckles. It takes Eddie a while longer to remember where he is, yet again, all these years later. Richie’s bed is soft and squishy, not doing much for back support. He can feel dried drool on the side on his cheek, which means he was definitely out cold, because he never drools otherwise. There’s a stinging in his nose that he can’t quite figure out what it’s from, so he sniffles to himself. His brain feels weak, sad, like he was drained.

_Oh, right._

Recalling the night before doesn’t do much for Eddie’s peace of mind. He remembers it all too vividly, not like an alcohol hangover where you can pretend it wasn’t really you. It was him, every moment of it. When he leaned in to kiss Richie, it was all he wanted to do.

_Richie had pulled away._

_Of course he pulled away, you were off your ass._

_But he didn’t kick me out._

_Get over yourself, Eddie._

At last he feels like he can face the horrors of the world outside his head—because what’re the chances they can be any worse than what’s going on inside of it—and forces his eyes open. But it’s not bright, warm sunshine like he remembers. It’s not happiness in his blood, or excitement or nerves. It’s dark, and it’s dull, and he feels horrible. He looks out the window behind Richie’s bed and watches the rain droplets as they hit the screen, bubbling in the little cross sections before dripping down. Without thinking he takes his hand and holds his fingers up to the window, feeling the chilled water splatter onto them as it ricochets off the opened pane.

“Why is your window open if it’s raining?” He mumbles, his voice gruff and low. Richie laughs from somewhere else in the apartment.

“I like the rain. It’s just water, who cares if it gets in,” Richie says absently and seems to be preoccupied doing something else.

“I’d care if all of my stuff got wet,” Eddie says and leans up in bed to see what Richie is up to. He’s standing in his kitchen in his jeans from yesterday, and a soft, grey tee shirt with a very hipster looking vinyl record design on the back. It reminds him of the outfits he’d wear as a kid, always something simple, yet flattering. The last day he had seen Richie when he was younger, he was wearing dark blue jeans with frayed hems around the ankles and a simple grey tee shirt with a plain black jacket. Eddie now recalls that he knew something was off that day, purely because of Richies outfit.

“You haven’t changed _that_ much,” Richie laughs and Eddie watches as his whole body moves when he laughs. He looks so free. “Come on sleepy head, time for coffee.”

And well, Eddie can’t resist that offer, so he slowly makes his way out of the bed and sort of crawls to a sitting position on the floor before standing and walking to the coffee table. Richie hands him a coffee mug when he sits down, black, and as if on second thought grabs a sugar shaker from a cabinet. Eddie smirks. Richie doesn’t need sugar, but he somehow knows Eddie does. Eddie slowly shakes out a bit of sugar and stirs the coffee with the spoon Richie brings to him. This all feels so comfortable to Eddie that he can’t help but smile down into his mug. Richie is blowing on his coffee, trying to cool it down, but his eyes are watching Eddie from above the rim of his glasses and Eddie shivers.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Eddie asks when they’re obviously making direct eye contact. Richie hasn’t altered his gaze. He almost feels embarrassed because he’s sure he’s not looking his best and just wants to wash his face before Richie analyzes it. But the way Richie is smiling gently at him makes Eddie feel like he could look the worst he’s ever looked and still want Richie to stare at him.

“Because you’re pretty,” Richie says simply and Eddie’s cheeks erupt in red. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? His palms start sweating where he hides them under the coffee table and he can feel sweat beading on his forehead. There has to be some point where this stops being a joke, right? Richie must have some boundary, there’s no way he talks to everyone like this, right? He actually thinks Eddie is pretty, _right?_

A ringing phone breaks the eye contact and Eddie quickly darts back to his, (his, fuck, he spends the night once and he already is choosing a side of the bed), side of the bed to grab his phone where it buzzes uncontrollably on the floor. Picking it up he sees that it’s Bev calling and smacks himself in the forehead before answering.

“Eddie what the fuck dude where are you?! Are you okay?” Bev’s voice is loud enough through the ear piece that Richie laughs from across the room. “Who the hell are you with?”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, how is he supposed to explain this to Beverly? More importantly, how is he supposed to explain this to Beverly when Richie is obviously listening in and seems to show no sign of giving them privacy.

“Uh, hey, hey Bev, sorry, I um, I spent the night with a friend,” he lands on and looks at Richie, who winks at him.

“You spent the night with a friend? What friend?” Beverly says and ouch. But fair.

“Um, remember how I said I ran into Richie…” Eddie starts and Bev gasps. Richie laughs again.

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Edward Kaspbrak.”

“Beverly Marsh.”

“Richie Tozier,” Richie says from across the room and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Eddie, what are you doing?”

“Bev, seriously, it’s fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. He just invited me over and we hung out, and it got late without me noticing so I didn’t feel like walking home. It’s okay,” Eddie says in a hush, hoping Richie takes the hint and butts out. Bev sighs but seems more at ease. Eddie appreciates this side of her, but it takes a toll on him sometimes. He knows Beverly is just concerned about him and wants to make sure that he’s safe, because he clearly doesn’t care enough to, but sometimes it makes him feel like he’s back home with his mother again and she’s nagging him about what he’s doing. And Bev only knows the story of, ‘Richie, the piece of flaming shit who used to be my best friend in the world and then left me to die’, so it’s not like it’s unfair of her to assume the worst about Eddie hanging out with him again. But Beverly doesn’t even come close to understanding the bond between Eddie and Richie, a bond that Eddie is still trying desperately to decode.

“Want me to feed Penny?” She asks, and most of the venom in her voice is gone but he can tell he’ll have some explaining to do later.

“Yes, please,” he says. “Thank you, Bev, really, it means a lot that you checked on me.”

“Of course, Eddie,” she says and he can imagine her smile through the phone. What is he thinking, Bev is nothing like his mother, and unlike her, she’ll make an outstanding one some day. “See you later?”

“I’ll be there after class,” Eddie assures and the line dies. Eddie looks at his screen once and sees multiple unread texts from Beverly and feels even worse about not leaving a note for her when he left. He tells himself it’s because there’s no way he thought he’d stay the night. He tells himself that wasn’t what he was hoping for.

“Trouble in paradise?” Richie asks and Eddie turns his attention back to him. Eddie is aware that Richie isn’t bringing up the night before on purpose, and he’s silently grateful because he really doesn’t know how he would go about that conversation. Yes, I did try to kiss you. Yes, I was basically fantasizing about kissing you. Yes, I wish I would have kissed you. But you can’t know any of that, and thank you for not asking.

“My roommate was just worried about me,” he says and Richie nods in understanding.

“So when you say roommate…is she just a roommate?” Richie asks and fuck, Eddie can’t handle the fact that Richie seems to be legitimately coming onto him. Or, if he isn’t coming onto him, but he’s still leading him on like this, he’s going to royally pissed off.

“Yes, she’s just a friend. You didn’t get the hint from spending the night in another boy’s bed?” Eddie says before he can really stop himself and watches Richie’s face carefully for any hint that he went too far. Or not far enough. Eddie had been comfortable with his sexuality since he first realized it. It was one thing that he felt he had control of, because even if other people judged him for it, at least he didn’t feel like he could do anything about it. That’s just who he is, and if others didn’t like it, they could leave. He assumes—though he tries not to assume other peoples sexuality—Richie is gay as well, or at least bisexual based on the way he’s talking to Eddie, and that makes his heart flutter in excitement.

Richie doesn’t look angry or confused or surprised, he just smiles softly and his eyes look so kind and all Eddie wants to do is touch the line of his jaw and trace his lips with his fingers and _feel_ him beneath his skin. He’s so beautiful, Eddie has to stop his train of thought before his pants grow tighter.

“Well, I won’t say _good_ , but that is good to know,” Richie says with a wink. “And that helps clarify my next question, when are we going on this date?”

Eddie grins and surprises himself with how natural it feels. He remembers how much he used to smile with Richie, so much that his jaw would hurt. It never felt fake, it was always the easiest thing in the world. Richie would tell some stupid joke and Eddie would hurl back an insult that would have hurt the average kids feelings, but Richies eyes would get wide and excited and he’d jump on Eddie like he was a new chew toy and they’d wrestle and touch and move together, enveloped in the aura of their own laughter. It’s one of the things about Richie that he misses most. “I need to ask, is this like, an actual date?”

“Like you said, you did spend the night in my bed, Edward, I think it’s only fair I get to buy you dinner.”

Richie and Eddie spend the rest of the morning chatting about nothing in particular, mostly it’s Richie recommending different restaurants and Eddie continuously saying that he doesn’t care where they go. They agree to meet up that night once they’re both out of class, around six, at a sushi place that Richie likes. Eddie doesn’t really like sushi—the idea of eating raw fish always stressed him out thanks to his mother insisting the probability of getting salmonella was outrageously high— but he agrees because it’s the first one Richie seems genuinely excited about and for the first time since their reunion, Eddie finds himself wanting _Richie_ to be happy. Eddie doesn’t recall the last time he wanted to do anything for anyone besides himself.

Richie packs a bowl and they smoke it together before Eddie says he needs to head off to class, (even though he _really_ doesn’t feel like it, but it’s one of his only classes that count attendance and he already skips it enough as is), and Richie helps him gather his things and walks him to the door.

“Okay so, I’ll pick you up at your apartment tonight. Better bring your A game, Kaspbrak, this date is going to be epic,” Richie says as he leans in front of the doorway, blocking Eddie inside. Eddie looks up at him and can’t help but bite his lip, looking into Richies eyes and for the first time in a very long time, feeling so lucky.

“I’ll text you the address,” Eddie says, and before he can bite his tongue, “Try not to disappear before then,” and yeah, it’s probably a bit rude and unnecessary, and yeah, it probably hurts Richie’s feelings by the way he winces, and yeah, it makes Eddie feel kind of bad because Richie’s been really great this whole time but _fuck,_ if Eddie can forgive him without getting an answer out of him as to why he left first.

“You never need to worry about that again,” Richie whispers and leans in to kiss Eddie on the forehead and before his fight or flight response really kicks in, butterflies start to swarm in his stomach because Richies lips are so gentle that he just wants to hold onto this moment for the rest of his life. With a squeeze on the hand, Richie opens the door and lets Eddie walk out, smiling at him as he makes his way down the hall.

—

—

The rain is still coming down in soft sheets as Eddie makes his way back to campus and towards his elements of photography class. He’s running a bit behind so he doesn’t have time to get his laptop from his apartment and curses himself, but shrugs it off because Professor Hanlon seems to have so much blind faith in him that it doesn’t really matter if he turns in the work or not. Plus he’s pretty baked from smoking with Richie, so he doesn’t care much to begin with. He smokes a cigarette on the way, always enjoying the way it feels after he’s smoked weed, and lets his body hover towards the heart of campus. He makes his way through the crowds of students, all trying to hide from the rain—which makes him think of what Richie had said about the rain getting in the windows, and how nonchalant he was about it—under backpacks or textbooks, and into the large, brick, arts building.

He’s making his way up one of the staircases when he realizes that he’s smiling to himself; despite the lack of serotonin molecules in his brain from the Molly, he feels the happiest he’s felt in a long time, and can’t seem to keep the smile off of his lips as he enters the small classroom on the top floor. Most of the rest of his fellow photographers are already seated, so Eddie walks to his typical spot in the back and plops down. A few of the other kids seem to notice that he’s not radiating his usual ‘get the fuck away from me’ energy and raise eyebrows at each other. His teacher comes in a few minutes later, his face looking much more haggard than usual, his clothes and hair all soaked with water. He groans as he pulls up the projector and something falls off of the front desk. This is probably the first time Eddie has been in a good mood while his teacher seems to not be, so it worries him a bit that he doesn’t have any materials prepared for class.

“Hello, everyone,” Hanlon says and everyone murmurs a response. “I’ve had a rough morning to say the least so we’re just going to go over your photos and then class with be dismissed.”

There are approving sounds from the rest of the class as they get their phones out to send their to-be-critiqued photos to the main desktop computer, and they pop up one by one on the projector screen. Eddies anxiety starts to bubble in his chest as he takes out his phone and quickly swipes through his photo gallery to see if there’s anything there he can possibly present. There’s some old photos of Beverly and some HDRs of sunsets, but he’s almost positive he’s presented them all before. Professor Hanlon calls on one of the first students and they walk to the front of the class. Eddie spends most of the class period with his head buried in his hands. He hasn’t felt actual shame like this in a while and wonders where it’s coming from. He needs a drink.

One by one the students present their photos and the rest of the class gives critiques. Most of the kids, in Eddies opinion, are brutally pretentious, and he doesn’t think they are giving the advice to help as much as to seem like they’re better than everyone else. Eddie usually never participates in the critiques, despite Professor Hanlon making constant eye contact with him and definitely hinting that he should participate. The other students never really critique his work either, mostly because it doesn’t need to be critiqued, but also because he knows they’re intimidated by him. When someone in the class stops talking about how the lighting in the particular photograph on the screen is far too low-key for the mood, Professor Hanlon looks at Eddie.

“Anything for us today, Eddie?”

“No,” Eddie says curtly because he really doesn't think that anything bad will happen because of it.

He’s stunned by how wrong he is.

For the first time that Eddie has ever seen, Hanlon’s face goes red and he rubs his fingers into his temples, seeming to indent his skull. His mouth looks worn and he grimaces multiple times, seeming to try to land on the right words to say. Eddie holds his eye contact but feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in anticipation.

“You know, Kaspbrak, I had a lot of faith in you when you started this program,” Hanlon starts and he’s rubbing his hands together in front of him like he’s concocting an evil plan. “Now, I know I was wrong. You want to explain to me how I know I was wrong?”

Eddie shakes his head, and for the first time since he was a child, he feels nervous in the face of adult authority.

“I can tell you why. It’s because you’re just a useless, hack, kid artist who wants to act like he can coast through life without putting in any effort. You act like you’re high and mighty because you have talent, but let me tell you kid, talent will only get you so far, and it won’t get _you_ nearly far enough,” Professor Hanlon says, completely monotone and without breaking eye contact. The rest of the class spins in their seats to stare, gawk eyed at Eddie, waiting to see what he’ll do in retaliation. Eddie’s mouth feels dry and his leg is shaking and he wants so badly to scream in his teacher’s face, but can’t seem to find the power to. They’re just sitting in silence, eyes glued to each other, waiting.

“Fuck you,” Eddie finally hisses and with all of his strength, aggressively pushes his body out of his seat, causing a few students to jump, and stomping through the classroom and out the door. He can hear Hanlon from behind him saying something about how much of ‘a bad example he his’, and Eddie sees red so he just keeps storming through the building and down the stairs. He crashes through the front door of the building and now the rain has picked up and there’s thunder booming in the clouds above but he doesn’t give a shit and drops to his knees on the front steps of the building before screaming up into the sky until his throat feels hoarse.

He’s not sure what is boiling inside of him right now but all of his emotions are storming through him like the weather around him. Of course he’s just a useless, hack, kid and of course he thinks he can float through life but what his stupid dick of a professor doesn’t understand is that Eddie doesn’t _give a fuck if it doesn’t work out._ He doesn’t care at all whether he makes it in this world. He’s long past the point of having ambitions and dreams and goals, all he wants to do is fucking fall apart and let the earth turn him to dust so he doesn’t have to do this anymore. All he wants to do is fucking die. The worst part is that he was actually starting to think that he might care again, because _Richie_ is back and he can solve everything and make all of the hurt go away, but even Richie can’t take away all of the pain. Maybe he could have if he hadn’t left.

Eddie leans over himself pathetically and punches his fists into the concrete, over and over, watching as the blood from his knuckles mixes with the rain water and trickles down the stairs. He’s losing himself to the motion of the water when a hand touches him on the shoulder and he jumps with a curse.

“Shit, Eddie? Are you okay, baby?”

Richies voice is full of concern and Eddie looks up at him before burying his face in his bloody hands and sobbing uncontrollably. What difference does it make now if Richie sees him this way or not? This might have been why he left to begin with. He was always a fucking baby.

Beside him, he feels Richie drop down to his knees and he puts his long arms around Eddies body and squeezes him, letting Eddie dissolve into the touch and continue to cry. The taller man’s head rests against the top of Eddie’s as he moans into his jacket, gripping onto the collar and pulling him tight against his body. He doesn’t know what he would do in this moment if Richie wasn’t here. He doesn’t want to think about it. He knows it sounds ridiculous but he’s already growing dependent on Richie again, and that makes him cry even harder because he doesn’t know if he can handle it if Richie leaves again. Richie continues to hold him and let him get everything out of his system, occasionally rubbing his back softly or sighing into his hair, until Eddie finally feels like he can breathe again and breaks their contact, which hurts so much fucking worse than it should.

Eddie stares into Richie’s eyes and he knows he looks like a disaster but he doesn’t care if Richie sees him this way, because he remembers how they used to end up in a similar situation all those years ago. Richie would often have Eddie sit on the handlebars of his bike, but sometimes the weight of the two boys would get the bike off balance on a sharp turn and they would crash, Eddie usually taking the brunt of the force and scraping up his knees and elbows. Eddie was always kind of a child about it, and would cry even if it didn’t hurt too bad, because he knew Richie would take care of him. Even though Richie was clueless, he would always try to bandage Eddie up, using the largest bandaids he could find in his fanny pack and applying too much antiseptic ointment to the cut and causing Eddie to swear at the pain. Eventually Richie would say ‘voila!’, and stand up to admire his work, which more often than not looked like scene out of a horror film. Eddie would call him a fucking idiot and pretend to be upset that he ever let himself become friends with such a unpracticed medical professional and Richie would laugh and respond in an equally cocky manner, that he was lucky to have a friend who could get him into such death defying activities and they would both laugh and Eddie’s tears would dry on his cheeks as he forgot the pain altogether.

Richie reaches up gently and with his thumb, brushes aside one of his tears as it slides down his cheek. Eddie’s breath hitches in his throat and hiccups which causes Richie to grin at him and kiss him on the top of the head. And he wants to do nothing more than pull on the connection he has to Richies collar and pull their lips together and forget that the rest of the world even exists, but he can’t. It really fucking _pisses him off_ that he can’t. Richie seems to notice the thought in Eddie’s head and moves away slightly, licking his bottom lip and Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from the motion.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Richie asks, and Eddie wonders why he’s being so…respectful. Eddie nods and lets Richie pull him to his feet and does much less work than he physically can because he wants Richie to coddle him and help him like he’s wounded. He always felt kind of weird about acting so needy around Richie, but something about him was just so protective that he couldn’t help but take advantage of it, especially when there was no one else in his life that treated him this way. They walk together in silence, Eddie leading the way without speaking, and eventually Richie laces their hands together and Eddie wants to cry again.

By the time they get to Eddie’s apartment they’re both soaked to the bone, and have to shake themselves off like dogs once they get inside to avoid leaving a dripping trail all the way upstairs. Eddie realizes that this is the first time Richie will see his apartment, but doesn’t really care because he’s already _slept_ in the other mans, so he tries to shrug off the nerves. They make their way to his door and he puts the key inside, clicking it open and walking in ahead of Richie, so Bev doesn’t throw a knife at the intruders face.

Bev is sitting on the couch and she looks up with horror as the two soaking wet guys enter, Eddie’s eyes seriously swollen from crying and his hands creased with drying blood. Richie waves politely at her and she mimics, but Eddie can tell she’s too distracted to notice who he is.

“Eddie?! What the fuck?” She’s standing and speed walking to him, grabbing some paper towels from the kitchen and putting them on his bleeding hands. Penny rouses at the noise from her spot on the couch and makes her way over to rub against Eddies legs.

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” he groans and his voice sounds like shit. He hates talking after he’s been crying, but the fact that he was screaming as well puts his whole tone out of whack. She nods and continues to nurse his wounds.

“Who’s this?” She asks instead, gesturing at Richie where he stands in the doorway and if Eddie was in a better mood he would chuckle at how uncomfortable he looks.

“Uh, Richie Tozier, nice to meet ya,” he says and Eddie didn’t know it was possible for him to sound shy.

“Oh, so you’re the famous Richie,” Bev says, and usually Eddie would be embarrassed to have her talking like this, but Beverly always feels so genuine that he can’t be mad about it. She’s just so honest and completely free of bias that he doesn’t feel worried about the way Richie might construe her response.

“I don’t know about famous,” Richie responds with a bit of a laugh and Eddie feels the mood of the apartment shift slightly and thinks to himself how much simpler life would be for them if he wasn’t around muddying up the air. “You’re Beverly? The roommate?”

“The roommate, nice Eddie,” she says as she finishes up cleaning his hand and throws the bloodied paper towel into the trash can. “I thought I’d get more of a title than just that.”

Eddie feels like he doesn’t need to respond, and he doesn’t know what he would say anyway, so he walks through the apartment and leaves them to stand awkwardly together as he makes his way to the bathroom. Luckily he has enough faith in both of their personality types that they can handle being alone together for a little while, or Richie can leave, but something tells Eddie he won’t.

He enters the bathroom and locks the door behind him, turning on the lights and trying to not make eye contact with himself in the mirror as he undresses and turns on the shower. His skin feels tight and clingy despite being thoroughly soaked with rain, and he wants to rub himself clean in the boiling water to open all his pores back up. Stepping into the shower he lets the steaming liquid hit his back and arches against the touch, hissing in a sharp breath at the burning sting. The water is hot enough that it clouds the room in steam quickly, and Eddie rests his forehead against the shower wall, breathing in the humidity through his mouth with deep inhales. He looks down at his knuckles and sees about three gashes on each finger, at varying degrees of intensity and grimaces when he hears his mother’s voice in his head telling him he needs to clean those cuts better or they’ll get infected. Pushing the thought out of his mind he carries on with thoroughly cleaning every part of his body, before turning the knob off and watching the water spiral down the drain.

It’s not until he’s shaking off his hair with a towel that he hears voices and realizes Richie and Bev are chatting in the other room. It makes him nervous but he can’t explain why; they’re allowed to talk to each other, just because he isn’t there doesn’t make it that weird. But he does find himself awfully curious as to what they could be talking about.

He sneaks out of the bathroom quietly and into his bedroom around the corner, trying not to draw any attention to himself, and puts on new boxers, sweatpants, and an old white tee shirt before throwing an olive green hoodie around his shoulders. A knock at the door causes him to jump and curse and he hears Richie chuckle outside the door.

“Hey baby, I just wanted to check on you,” he says and Eddie turns on the spot and walks towards the door. He hears a _thud_ and thinks Richie put his forehead against the wood so Eddie does the same. The connection feels so much more personal than it probably is, and Eddie almost chuckles to himself at the corniness of it.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry you had to see that,” he whispers, but assumes Richie can hear.

“It’s okay baby doll, I’m just glad you’re okay.” Richies voice sounds so kind that Eddie can barely believe this is the same person who he loathed a few days ago and for the past five years. In that moment he wishes he could take away all of the pain Richie had caused him and just love him fully again. But he’s not there yet, and he doesn’t know if that wound will ever be stitched entirely and he finds himself yet again desperate for answers. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you still want to go out tonight?”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and his hands grip into fists which cause his scabbing wounds to crack. No, he really doesn’t, but he also doesn’t want to disappoint Richie, which, by the way, is fucking ridiculous, because he shouldn’t give two shits, but he does, and he really doesn’t know how to respond.

“I don’t know, Richie…” he trails off.

“It’s okay. I think I have a better idea anyway,” Richie says and Eddie can almost see his smile. “I’m going to head out okay?”

And that shocks Eddie a bit and makes his heart hurt but he understands, Richie has his own life that he doesn’t even begin to belong in, so he shouldn’t be surprised that he has other things he needs to do, especially if they’re no longer going on their date. Still, his heart aches.

“I’ll text you,” Eddie murmurs and Richie laughs.

“See you later, beautiful,” Richie says and Eddie can hear him turning and walking away, saying goodbye to Beverly before opening and closing the front door. He wonders what he means by that, when later will be, nerves jolting down his spine that this might have done it, this might have been the nail in the coffin that sent Richie running again. Eddie turns and slides down the door, his back aching against the wooden rivets.

He spends what he guesses to be an hour sitting with his legs pulled up to his chest, feeling deflated, but better than earlier. His head begins to clear over time and he can feel his serotonin molecules budding back to life. He wonders if he would have snapped like he did if he hadn’t been coming down from the drug, but guesses it wouldn’t have changed the outcome much. He’d been dancing around a situation like that for three weeks now, it was about time his professor grew some balls and punished him for being a brat and coasting through the class. He’d have to make sure to get the assignments in soon to hopefully make up for it.

Burying his head in his hands, he has time to really reflect on the past forty eight hours of his pathetic life. He’s relieved to have Richie back in his life. That’s that. He can admit it. He’s sure he had his reasons, and he can understand that, because he himself had to get out of Derry just as badly, it just took him longer to make the jump. And maybe it wasn’t so much that he hated Richie for leaving, but that he hated him for not taking him with, and that he was jealous of Richie’s ability to leave. But that’s nothing new, when he’s honest with himself he knows he’s always been jealous of Richie for some reason or another, but that’s part of what made it so great that Richie seemed to cling to him just as much. And part of why Eddie was so lost and confused when he disappeared one day.

But, for once, he wants to be optimistic, or, as optimistic as he can manage. Things might work out with Richie, maybe they’ll go on their date and he’ll tell him the truth and it will be so absurdly obvious that Eddie will feel like a dipshit for even thinking Richie would hurt him on purpose, and their relationship will go back to normal. Because honestly, it already feels eerily like they’re picking up where they left off, and, (optimist), maybe this is the fabled moment when his life will get better.

He brushes back his now dry hair, lifting himself up and cracking his back.

_Richie would have laughed at that._

_He’d say how old I am._

_Make some joke about “needing a stronger back for when I’m railin’ ya”._

_…Where the fuck did that come from?_

Making his way over to his bed he flops down and melts into his mattress. The idea of him and Richie becoming more than friends is what he’s always wanted, but it felt so unattainable as kids, almost more so now, despite the circumstances. Clearly, Richie didn’t feel the same way Eddie did, he’s been over this a million times. He would have done something if he knew or felt the same way.

He contemplates texting Richie, asking if he wants to resume their date, but can’t bring himself to, he doesn’t want to seem needy. And Richie did leave, he said he’d see him later, it sounded pretty concrete. The worst thing he can imagine now is finally letting himself be happy, and then coming on too strong and ruining everything. It seems like a very Eddie thing to do. He leans up in his bed and opens the window a crack, letting some of the rain drops in and trying to not lose his temper about it; Richie would be proud of him he thinks. Grabbing a lighter, he lights a cigarette from his pack and focuses the smoke out the crack in the window, his insides feeling even better with each puff. Another plus of living off campus, no TA’s up his ass. With another drag he wonders what Richie is up to right now, wonders what class he was leaving when he found him outside, wonders what he did after Eddie left this morning. He can’t get him out of his head, and he finds that he doesn’t want to. The image of him in his mind makes him smile, and he laughs at himself because fucking look at him, smiling and shit like someone who’s possibly capable of being happy, especially after a day like today.

What a concept.

He barley realizes that his eyes are feeling heavy, and when he puts his cigarette out all he wants to do is take a fucking nap. Luckily he doesn’t have any more obligations for the day, so he shimmies off his sweats and gets under his blankets, pulling them up to cover his head. As if his brain itself is capable of being any more tired than he feels, he drifts off in his warm cocoon, his mind blissfully silent.

—

—

He’s startled awake to a knocking on his door, and it takes him a moment to remember what the hell is happening. He must have fallen asleep without realizing it, and he has no idea how much time has passed since then. When he doesn’t respond, the knock sounds again.

“Eddie…” It’s Bev, she sounds happy about something, so Eddie resists the urge to pretend he’s still sleeping, and shuffles out of bed to pull back on his sweats before making his way to the door.

When he swings it open, his mouth falls open with it. Standing in the doorway is Bev, a glorious grin on her face, and behind her, is Richie, with his arms absolutely overloaded with various foods, movies and drinks. He smiles cheekily at Eddie around a bottle of tequila that’s balancing precariously on a dvd case of “Shrek”.

“Richie’s here,” she says with a laugh and adjusts so he can carefully walk past and into Eddies doorway. Eddies mouth is still hanging open as Richie makes himself at home, placing the contents of his arms on Eddies bed like he owns the damn place and if that isn’t just so Richie. Something Eddie always envied him for was his ability to be comfortable anywhere, it seemed like he felt like he belonged wherever he ended up. What it must be like to feel like you belong in that way. Bev winks at Eddie when he still is rendered mute, gaping like a fish out of water, and turns to leave them alone.

“Stunned silence, I get it, I’m the best,” Richie says and Eddie blinks for the first time since he’s seen him. Eddie takes in his appearance, and despite having spent the night with him, this is the most laid back he’s seen him look. He’s got on black joggers that don’t leave much to the imagination, and a grey hoodie that hangs down just low enough around the collar that Eddie can see he’s not wearing a shirt underneath. Eddie gulps.

“You look…nice,” Eddie says and Richie cackles.

“Well, I figured you might have a panic attack if I turned up looking like a million bucks for a cozy night in,” Richie explains, plopping down onto the edge of Eddie’s bed. “Didn’t want to ruin the vibe of a lazy day. We can do an official dress up date next time.”

Eddie is almost certain that he’s still dreaming, so he checks his phone and sees that it’s seven thirty, which he guesses makes sense if he was sleeping for a couple of hours. The mention of a second date sends Eddie’s mind whirling with possibilities and he’s thankful that Richie has the guts to be the outgoing one. Richie is watching him with an amused smile on his face and Eddie wants to kiss him _so badly_ and he doesn’t even want to force the feeling away _._

“I have so many questions,” he squeaks out, after they continue to stare at each other in claustrophobic silence.

“Ask away, darling,” Richie says and leans back on Eddie’s bed, his hoodie riding up at the waist and displaying his hips and subtle happy trail. Eddie forces himself to look away with much difficulty.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were heading home?” Eddie starts with, because that’s the easiest.

“I did go home, and then I went to the movie rental shop, which, did you know there are still movie rental shops? Because I didn’t, and even more astonishing, they sell fucking weed in them now, so two birds with one stone,” Richie digs into his pocket and procures a glass jar of weed and tosses it to Eddie, who barely catches it. “And then I went to the grocery store and got as many snacks as I could possibly get my hands on, I hope you at least like some of them, I remember you used to have pretty bad food allergies.” He gestures to the pile of food on the bed, and Eddie identifies plenty of snacks he likes, like those little cheese crackers and Haribou gummy bears. Eddie actually hates most types of gummy snacks besides this specific brand, and he tells himself there’s no way Richie actually remembered that about him. “Oh, and last but not least, liquor store, because you can’t really have a first date without being a little intoxicated.”

Eddie can feel how wide his eyes are without really allowing them to do so and shakes his head to try to return them to normal. Richie is smiling at him like he’s pretty damn proud of himself and Eddie has to give him that. This is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him.

“I can’t believe this,” Eddie manages to say and Richie laughs lightly.

“Not a question, but you better believe it baby doll.” He starts sorting through the materials he brought with him, and ends up landing on a bottle of red wine. Cocking his eyebrow he looks up at Eddie expectantly. “Corkscrew?”

Eddie moves without being told twice, making his way into the kitchen where Bev is standing making her own dinner. When he enters the room, she claps him lightly on the shoulder and winks. Richie must have impressed her just as much as he impressed Eddie. He smiles at her because his brain isn’t really working quite right, and he doesn’t even really know exactly what’s happening well enough to explain it. Absentmindedly he grabs two wine glasses from the cupboard and a corkscrew from the utensil drawer before turning away and heading back down the hallway.

“Be smart, Eddie,” Beverly whispers as he walks away. Helpful, but not forceful, as always.

When he gets back into his room, Richie is sitting cross legged on his bed, his shoes still on—despite the nagging voice in his mind telling him to take them the fuck off, he doesn’t say anything—and is grinding the weed. Eddie walks in silently, sitting down on the other end of the bed and making himself busy with the wine bottle.

“I just want to point out that you only asked me one question, Eds,” Richie says as he starts to pack the bowl he brought. It’s a beautiful piece, not the one they had shared this morning, this one is dark blue glass with purple swirls going through it, making it look like a little galaxy.

“Is that an invitation for more?” Eddie asks, popping the cork out of the bottle and pouring the wine into the glasses.

“I’m an open book,” Richie says, taking the glass he’s being offered and taking a long swig. Eddie sips his own wine, actually really liking the flavor despite being partial to a drink of a higher alcohol content, and feels his head buzz with the absence of food in his system. Eddie never got into beer or wine much, he never drank for the “fun” of it or to get buzzed and have a good time. He drank specifically to get drunk, forget his problems, and hard liquor was always the best way to do that. He drinks more down, finishing his glass in a few gulps, and pouring himself some more. Richie watches him with a raised eyebrow, but he doesn’t really care. He chugs down the second glass with ease, letting the dull flames crawl through his bloodstream.

And Eddie doesn’t really know what to say. This feels like a perfect chance to ask Richie everything he’s been wanting to know for the last five years, but for some reason it feels secondary now, staring at this beautiful boy’s face who he’s just really damn happy to see. How does he even bring up the question of _why_ without risking ruining this moment? Is it really worth it at this point? Or, for once in his life, should he just accept that sometimes good things do happen, and it’s your responsibility at that point to not fuck it all up? He doesn’t know, he can’t think straight, especially when Richie is watching him with his blue eyes that feel like an oasis and the red wine that slightly stained his plush lips a deeper shade of red, which is almost as intoxicating as the alcohol itself.

In a moment of risk, fear, excitement and hope, he sets his glass down and leans forward, moving Richie’s own glass out of his long fingers before clasping their hands together and breaking the space between them. Richie seems to expect it coming because he meets Eddie halfway, sealing their lips softly and it feels so fucking right that Eddie chokes out a moan just at the contact. Richie’s lips are so smooth as they glide along Eddie’s, leading the way despite Eddie wanting to be in control, and before he knows it he feels his tongue trace his lower lip and push inside, sending a shiver through Eddie’s whole body.

He’d like to blame it on the alcohol fog in his mind, but he knows he’s just hungry at this point, as he pushes his entire body into Richie’s lap, holding his hand tighter with one hand and weaving the other up into his curly hair. Richie groans a bit into Eddie’s mouth as he closes his fist in his hair, and Eddie feels the rush of blood in his pants at the sound. Richie breaks away from the kiss to lick down Eddie’s neck and _fuck_ if that isn’t the best thing he’s ever felt. His hot breath seems to relax all the muscles in his throat and he moans louder than he intends to when Richie bites down on the base of his neck. Eddie’s dick is definitely hard now and he risks thrusting slightly against Richie’s hips, relishing the sounds that come out of Richie’s mouth at the sensation. Eddie can feel Richie’s hardness slightly between their layers of clothes, and it exhilarates him because this is the first time he’s ever felt another man’s cock against his own and he can barely stop himself from ripping all his clothes off.

“Eddie…darling,” Richie murmurs as his free hand grabs Eddie’s waist and holds him steady. Eddie grinds against him again, despite the force holding him back, because damnit he _wants this_ and he wants to feel every part of Richie against him and though he hates to admit it, he really doesn’t care about how much he hurt him before because now he’s making him feel _so good._ “Eddie, baby, hold on.”

Looking down at Richie with hooded eyes he can tell something’s wrong, and his mind immediately goes into fight or flight.

_Shit._

_Was that too much?_

_Fuck._

_God fucking damnit._

Richie is still holding steady on his waist, and he carefully undoes the knot of their hands. Eddie feels so trapped, like he just did the worst thing he could imagine and now he can’t even run away from the situation, and Richie is just holding him and it’s making him feel like he needs to squirm out of his grasp. He feels tears threatening to break loose and forces them back with a pathetic sob.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, that was…that was incredible. That’s not why I stopped, believe me,” Richie says, backtracking and alleviating Eddies anxiety a bit. “I want to tell you something. Before this…thing between us goes any further. If you’ll listen?”

That catches Eddie off guard. He nods, confusion obvious on his face as Richie smiles softly and brings a hand up to caress his cheek. Eddie doesn’t feel like getting off of Richie's lap, so he’s thankful that he continues without forcing him.

“Look, I just need you to know that I’m sorry. For everything. And I’ve spent the last five years trying to forget you, but you’re just so fucking stubborn, I could never get you out of my head.” Eddie blinks in shock, but doesn’t interrupt. “Eddie, you’re the reason I left. But not because of _you,_ because of _me._ Does that make sense? Fuck… you’d think I’d have figured out what to say after all this time. I…Eddie, I was in love with you. I was painfully, head over heels in love with you, and I didn’t know what to do. It was terrifying. You know fucking Derry, they don’t hesitate to tear you apart if you’re different, and being gay was like, the most different I could be. And I tried for so long to ignore those feelings, just enjoy being your friend because I loved you so much I thought that maybe it would be enough. Maybe I could just be your secret admirer forever and everything would be okay. But I literally couldn’t, I couldn’t sleep or concentrate or eat…you were all I could think of, and the idea that I’d never get to have you the way I wanted to… It was destroying me, Eddie.”

“So you left,” Eddie finishes for him. Richie nods and he can see little beads of tears along his lash line, magnified by his glasses. Eddie doesn’t know how to feel, he senses that somewhere deep inside he’s happy, because that’s probably the best outcome he could have hoped for, and maybe he can be brave and tell Richie that he feels the same way and everything will make sense for once, but on the surface level he’s hurt.

Hurt for Richie.

Hurt because he understands, _completely_ how he must have felt. And shame because he loathed him for it. He had assumed the worst, assumed that it was somehow his fault, assumed that Richie had intended to _hurt him_. But it was Richie who was suffering, and Eddie didn’t even think about it.

“When I saw you in the lounge yesterday I couldn’t believe it. I had to do something, I couldn’t just let you slip away again. I’m sorry if I’m coming on too strong, or you really don’t want to see me…I understand that you’re angry and I get it. I’d be angry, too. I just need you to know that I want to do everything I can to make it up to you,” Richie says quietly, his voice dropping in volume as tears crackle through. Eddie watches him, too stunned to move. He can feel his heart breaking all over again, but this time from something new. He rests his forehead against Richie’s and lets him cry silently, hoping that he can be here for him now like he never was before.

When he seems to have it most of it out of his system, Richie sniffs a bit and Eddie chuckles to try to erase some of the awkwardness. Eddie’s never seen Richie cry. He’s never really seen anyone cry besides himself or his mother. For the first time he doesn’t feel like the helpless one, he feels like he can comfort the one who needs it.

“Richie,” he starts, rubbing a hand along his back. “I loved you, too.”

Richie’s eyes grow comically wide behind his glasses and his mouth gapes open a bit. Eddie shrugs and smiles at him.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I tried.” Silence hangs between them and Eddie looks away, trying to push aside the memory that floods his mind. 

“Okay, that’s fair.”

They both chuckle a bit and the air seems to clear around them. There it is, the truth, finally out in the open. No more secrets, or so Eddie hopes. Eddie snuggles in closer to Richie’s chest, and the taller man wraps his arms around his back. They sit in silence, holding each other, time standing still. And in that moment, everything is perfect. Truly, blissfully perfect. Like it used to be before everything went wrong. Eddie feels as if the last five years of his life were just a bad dream and the morning has finally arrived.

_Richie never left._

_Richie loved you all along._

_Richie is here, with you._

_Richie would never hurt you._

Everything was going to be okay, as he feels Richie’s chest rise and fall against his cheek, he wonders when the last time he ever felt this hopeful was. Probably before Richie left to begin with, when they were going to conquer the world together, when pain was something you only felt after scraping your knee, not slicing through your heart like jagged glass. When the mornings felt less dreadful and the nights less lonely, when he felt like there was something that made it all worth it. It was Richie, Richie was that something, that force, a powerful thing to be reckoned with. Something Eddie never truly felt the magnitude of until this moment. Richie belongs to him, and he belongs to Richie, that’s how it would be again.

Without speaking, Richie unwraps Eddie from his body and grabs his wine glass, drinking down a few more sips and just staring Eddie right in the eyes. Eddie finds that he’s getting comfortable with being watched like this, where at first it was intimidating, it now feels reassuring. And it gives him a chance to really stare at Richie back, which is always a plus. Freckles adorn his cheeks and nose, just like he remembers, but they have gotten a bit darker over time. The way that his lips seem to always be curled slightly upward whenever he’s looking at Eddie, and the twinkle that shines in his eyes when they’re laughing together. It’s all for Eddie.

Eddie grabs his own glass after a while, clinking it with Richie’s as they both take another sip. “Now that that’s out of the way, want to make out again?” Richie jokes and Eddie pinches his thigh before they both fall into a symphony of laughter. He doesn’t know if he’s being serious, but he kind of wishes he is.

They fill their glasses another time and Eddie can feel the alcohol simmering in his system slightly, and is thankful that Richie brought more than just wine. He’s feeling adventurous, _lucky_ dare he say it, and he wants to test the limits he’s created for the situation. How much is Richie willing to share with him? How much should he share about what happened to himself after he left? Are they _dating_ now? He smiles at the thought.

He uncorks the tequila without asking first and Richie doesn’t complain, so he takes a long pull before handing it over to the other man and feeling the wicked head rush instantly.

“So, what movie are we watching?” Eddie asks, because it sounds really damn nice to just cuddle and watch a movie right now, despite the adrenaline in his system. Richie hands him the dvds he brought, including a wide range of genres, Eddie assumes more for his own benefit than Richies. When they were kids, Richie always let Eddie choose the movie—whether they were paying to see it at the Aladdin or hanging out in Richie’s basement—boasting that ‘frankly I can just watch anything’, and Eddie was not as easy-going. They typically would end up seeing something animated because Eddie didn’t care much for gore or romance or action. He likes to think that Richie enjoyed the movies Eddie chose not only because they made him happy, but that he actually enjoyed them, too. The only time Eddie had insisted Richie choose the movie, it had been a mistake, because it was “Saw” on Halloween night and Eddie had cried quietly in his seat at the scary parts, trying to avert his eyes without making too much of a scene. He hadn’t wanted to ruin Richie’s good time. But, of course, as he reached to hand Eddie some popcorn, Richie had noticed, and he grabbed his hand instead, lifting him from his seat and walking them into the light of the theater lobby. Eddie had promised he was fine, but Richie just laughed, and they ended up arguing about if Eddie was lying or not on the sidewalk until the other patrons of the theater were leaving.

They end up settling on “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”, agreeing that it’s a classic, and packing a bowl with the weed Richie brought to commemorate such a film. Eddie sets up his laptop on his desk and puts the movie in, thankful for once that he couldn’t afford a newer model that didn’t have a dvd slot. As he was setting everything up for the movie, Richie made himself busy making the bed into a sort of amateur looking, nest thing, shoving all of Eddie’s blankets to one side and adjusting the pillows to form arm rests. Eddie grins when he turns around and sees Richie sitting there in _his_ bed, with _his_ pillow under his arm, finally taking his shoes off. Eddie makes his way to the other side of the bed, again testing the parameters of the situation, and sitting flush against Richie’s side. A moment of silence falls between them before Richie puts his long arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him closer to his side, which sends a jolt of electricity through Eddie’s entire body.

The movie is mostly just on in the background as they sit and chat about different scenes, which character is their favorite, (Eddie’s is Raul Duke and Richie’s is the girl who Dr. Gonzo gives acid to), and how many of the drugs they’ve tried compared to what’s being shown on screen.

“Did acid for the first time when I was fifteen and nearly died,” Richie explains with a slur, opening a bag of kettle corn between them and grabbing a handful. “I thought that I was hanging out with the Genie from Aladdin and we were going to go for a magic carpet ride…of course I was on a bridge at the time so thank God one of my friends distracted me enough with a river rock that I didn’t jump right off.”

Eddie chuckles but feels tense at the same time. He can’t image how he would react in a similar situation, especially if he was also on drugs.

“I’ve only done acid once, but I think it must have been shitty stuff because it didn’t do much,” Eddie explains, pouring out the popcorn into his hand so he doesn’t have to dirty the inside of the bag.

“Well, we might have to change that, acid is the fucking shit,” Richie laughs.

“What, you just said you almost died!”

“Yeah, but all of the best things in life can kill ya.”

Eddie shrugs, no point arguing that.

By the time the movie is over, they’re both pretty drunk and stoned enough that everything the other person says is the funniest thing ever. Eddie ends up with his head in Richie’s lap, not remembering adjusting to get there. Richie is combing his fingers through his hair and Eddie is kind of dozing off at how good it feels, when Richie jolts up suddenly.

“Shit, I actually have class in like,” he checks his phone, “four hours.” Eddie blinks stupidly and reaches for his own phone.

_5:38 am._

“Jesus fuck,” Eddie mumbles, and ungracefully gets himself to a sitting position. Eddie hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, but time is pretty fucked for him right now. “Do you have to go?” He mumbles, looking at Richie and resting his hand on his thigh in invitation. In pleading.

“Unfortunately, darling, all my shit’s there and I’m barely gonna wake up in time as is,” Richie says, and Eddie deflates slightly. But he understands that, especially after he made the same mistake the night before.

“I want to walk you home.” Eddie tries to stand and as the alcohol takes over his mind, he stumbles and almost loses balance. Luckily Richie seems to handle his alcohol better, and catches him before he falls on his ass.

“Eds, babe, you can barely walk,” Richie chuckles, but it just pisses Eddie off.

“Fuck that, lemme walk with you,” he grumbles into Richie’s shoulder. Richie looks at him carefully, probably trying to tell if he can actually make the walk, eventually sighing and saying he can come with. Eddie giggles like a school girl and helps Richie pack up his things, even though he leaves most of the food there. “Do you want, like, a backpack or something? Why didn’t you just put all this in one before you left?” Eddie says through hiccups and gets Richie a backpack from his closet before he can respond.

It’s probably weird for him to already be giving Richie one of his belongings, because that would imply that they’d have to hang out again, and even though Eddie really wants to believe that that’s true, Richie is a wild card, and he’s done the unthinkable before. He stops that train of thought before it can leave the station, filling the backpack with as much liquor and movies as it will fit.

They tiptoe through the apartment, surprisingly quietly for two drunks, but they’re both experienced enough they make it to the door without causing too much commotion. As they make their way outside, Eddie immediately is thankful for his elevated body heat, because it’s raining pretty heavily and the temperature seemed to drop quite a bit. Richie grumbles to himself, but they make their way toward Richie’s apartment complex in general silence. Eddie finds himself desperate to grab Richie’s hand, but he doesn’t. The rain continues to pelt them as they walk, occasional cracks of lightning lighting up the sky. Eddie used to be terrified of thunderstorms as a child, but he enjoys them now, their chaos entices and soothes him, makes him feel less out of control. When they get to Richie’s apartment, they stop and look at each other in silence, Eddie needing to shield his eyes from the rain as he looks up towards Richie’s face.

“I had a really great time tonight, cutie,” Richie says, and a boom of thunder echos around them. Richie’s eyes are scanning the area around them, as if he’s trying to find the faces that could be watching them in the shadows. It makes Eddie a little uneasy, but he’s probably just imagining it. Eddie feels like he wants to kiss Richie again, but _again_ he doesn’t know exactly how this works and he doesn’t want to come on stronger than he already has and he doesn’t want to lose himself in the situation more than he already has and before he can panic internally anymore, Richie is placing a fingers under Eddie’s chin and pulling him up into a soft kiss.

At least, it starts out soft.

The moment their mouths connect, Eddie’s body goes into hyperdrive, lifting up onto his tippy toes to bind them closer together, snaking his hands through Richie’s soaking wet hair and pulling him downward. This must be a result of the tequila, he thinks, because usually he’s not a very horny drunk, and he wonders if Richie did that intentionally. Richie moans at the sensation and Eddie tries to file the information that Richie likes his hair pulled away for later. Richie coaxes Eddie’s mouth open with his tongue, licking into his mouth and Eddie just shivers, trying desperately to match Richie’s technique, but he’s just not experienced with this sort of stuff. He just knows that he _wants_ , he wants so badly, and he’s biting at Richie’s lips harder than he thinks he probably should, but Richie doesn’t seem to mind. Richie brings his hands down to Eddie’s waist, lingering before reaching down to grab his ass, causing Eddie to break away from the kiss with a sharp inhale. Richie grabs him tightly, his fingers carving into his skin so hard that Eddie can almost feel his nails through the fabric. But it doesn’t bother him, in fact he likes it, a lot, and he pulls Richie tight to his body, sliding a leg in between his thighs and making the taller man curse through labored breaths.

Thunder booms around them and raindrops are still falling heavily against his closed eyelids, and Eddie feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t get rid of some of this friction, but what the fuck is he supposed to do, whip his dick out in front of a well lit building? Even in his inebriated state, he’s not _that_ stupid, right? He senses that Richie feels his hesitation and slows down a bit, releasing his hold slightly, causing Eddie to feel lost and unbalanced.

“I don’t want to stop,” Eddie manages to whisper out against his lips, and Richie chuckles a bit.

“Me neither, baby, but I think we’ll be happier if we did,” Richie says, kissing him again and fuck Eddie’s head is spinning and he can feel how weak his knees are and wonders if he’ll fall when Richie lets go of him.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Eddie says, but knows he’s right. He wouldn’t be happy with himself in the morning if he knew his first time was drunkenly in public at five am with someone he, until very recently, thought left him for good. So he sighs like a whiny bitch and Richie laughs, kissing him on the cheek and releasing his hold on his ass. Eddie falls back onto the flats of his feet and almost falls, but Richie catches him. Richie always catches him.

“Text me when you’re back home so I know you’re safe,” Richie says, leaning his forehead against Eddie’s as more thunder rumbles through the air.

“I will,” Eddie says softly, suddenly feeling very sober in the moment, and appreciating how amazing it is. “Goodnight, Richie.”

“Sweet dreams, love,” Richie says, kissing Eddie’s forehead and clenching his hand slightly.

As he turns to head inside, Eddie feels very alone, and very tired, so he speed walks through the rain back to his apartment, jumping slightly at any car that drives past him or whatever triggers motion detector lights. At some point he realizes that he’s smiling, but he doesn’t know why. It makes him smile wider, and eventually he’s laughing to himself, running through the rain, jumping through puddles like a kid because he’s just so fucking happy. Yeah he almost falls a lot, and yeah his shoes are beyond soaked through, and yeah he _does_ fall sometimes, landing on his knees or his hands, but he’s too happy to care.

_This is it._

_This is the“life gets better” moment._

_It’s real._

_It’s better._

When he gets back to his apartment, a dripping mess of dirt and gravel, Beverly is in the kitchen making breakfast and she yelps at the sound.

“Good fucking lord, Edward you almost made me shit myself,” she says through a shaky breath, holding up her egg spatula as a weapon. “What the fuck are you doing?? You know it’s like, six in the morning right? Why are you so wet?”

“Walkin’ Richie home,” he mumbles, still grinning. He’d forgotten Beverly is one of those specific breeds of people who get up ungodly early to make a heartfelt breakfast and go to the gym before class. He typically never sees her in action.

“Get some sleep, crazy,” she says, seeming to realize that at least he’s coherent enough to know what he was doing and respond to her question. She goes back to making her eggs and Eddie shakes himself off like a dog in the entryway before kicking off his dirty shoes—cursing himself because he’s going to have to deal with that in the morning—and shuffling through the apartment to his room. When he gets there he collapses heavily into the bed, literally moaning at the feeling. He feels himself pass out briefly before remembering that he should text Richie and tell him he got home safe, so he does, forcing his eyes to stay open while he waits for a response.

_Richie Tozier: Good job baby, I’m glad I didn’t have to hunt anyone down._

_Sleep well, beautiful <3_

As soon as the text comes in, Eddie drops his phone to the floor, his body falling into a semi-comatose state of rest.

—

—

Eddie wakes up around noon, thankful that he doesn’t have any classes scheduled for the day, and takes his time waking up. He feels rejuvenated, despite being hungover, and smiles at the fact that he’s gotten some of his best nights sleep the last two nights. He sends Richie a good morning text, simple with a smiley face at the end, and doesn’t necessarily feel anxious about sending it. It’s a welcome feeling. He hopes Richie had a good rest of his night, (morning?), and that he didn’t miss his class. Eddie feels his heart beat in his chest as he realizes that he actually cares about how Richie is doing. He can’t decide if he’s disgusted or relieved.

Penny is laying at the bottom of the bed by his legs, curled in a tight ball of fluff, and Eddie reaches down to scratch her ears, resulting in a tired purr. Sun rays glisten through his open window, basking the room in warmth; he feels overwhelmed that the sun is shining, such a rarity in Oregon, and wants to enjoy every minute of it while he’s still in such a good mood. He scrolls aimlessly through his phone for an hour or so before scooping himself out of bed and taking a cool shower. He feeds Penny while he’s up, and finds a note from Bev on the kitchen counter, with an organic fruit juice bottle beside it.

_Thought you might need this, have a good day!_

He reminds himself to thank her for this when he sees her in person, and goes back into his room to get ready. Since he’s in such a good mood, he decides he’s going to swing by the coffee shop on campus and treat himself to a blueberry muffin and caramel latte before taking a walk along the river. He opens his closet and swipes through some tee shirts, all of them hanging neatly on hangars, and decides to go with a simple black one, pulling it over his naked shoulders. He checks his phone for the weather, assuming that it’s warm enough for shorts, and takes out a couple pairs. His favorite, a red pair of athletic short shorts with a white hem, fall from his hands and he decides it’s fate that he should wear them today. This pair of shorts is far too short for him to wear with his usual boxers under, so he pulls his underwear drawer open and grabs one of the cottony pairs of ladies underwear that he owns. He used to feel embarrassed about buying girls underwear, but he couldn’t argue that they were significantly more comfortable and fit his body shape better than boys did. He shimmies the panties up his legs before pulling on his shorts and checking himself in the mirror.

He almost doesn’t recognize himself. A smile on his lips, a carefree bend in his leg, his hands on his hips. He doesn’t recognize this _happy_ person looking back at him.

He recalls the disaster he left his shoes in and grabs a spare pair of converse high tops from his closet. Grabbing his pack of cigarettes, he heads out of his apartment, kissing Penny on the forehead before leaving. The air has a slight chill to it but it’s not bad, and he lets the sun wash over his skin as he walks to the coffee shop. His mother always used to lather him in sunscreen before he could ever leave the house in summer, sending him out into the world like a melting ice cream cone. He always hated the smell of the stuff, and hated the way it made his skin feel when it dried, and hated the way it would all just leak off of him whenever he got in the quarry water anyway. Richie never wore sunscreen, but never burned.

‘I’m too hot, the sun can’t even compete with me, Eds,’ he would say, shaking out his wet locks and getting water in Eddie’s eyes. Damn glasses always made it impossible for Eddie to get him back.

Eventually his phone buzzes in his hand, jolting him out of his memory, and he looks down to see that it’s Richie responding to his good morning text.

_Richie Tozier: Aww Eddie teddy you do care about lil ol’ me._

Eddie rolls his eyes but smiles, somehow knowing Richie won’t take it personally if he doesn’t respond right away. He walks along the campus’ main cobblestone path, passing plenty of students who look like they’re in much worse of a mood than he is for once. When he gets to the coffee shop, he finds that it’s nearly packed, unfortunately, and generally that would be an immediate deal breaker, but he deserves his blueberry muffin, damnit.

He shuffles through the groups of people, standing at the end of the line and waiting as the singular cashier works to get through everyone. Eddie scans the room a bit, harmlessly people watching, when his eyes land on a group of guys who look familiar, but he can’t place from where. They’re sitting at a booth together, three of them, one sitting on one side while one sits on the other and the final sits on the table itself, his feet on the bench, facing Eddies direction. Eddie groans internally while imagining having to clean up after this group. The one facing Eddie on the booth looks better kept than the others, curly, dirty blonde hair falling around his mousey face. He seems to be quieter than the other two, but he still laughs obnoxiously loud for being in public and it makes Eddie grit his teeth. The one sitting on the other side of the booth is a bit heavier set, his brown hair cut short and framing his strong jawline. Eddie can catch glimpses of his face when he turns back and forth, and he realizes that he’s actually quite handsome. He’s crumbling up pieces of napkin in his hands and dropping them on the floor beside his feet aimlessly, most of his attention held by the man sitting on the table.

It’s pretty obvious that he’s the ringleader of the group, and Eddie quickly understands why he’s sitting above the rest of them. His hair is short and dark, with hints of red running through it where it falls in front of his face. He’s all limbs and very little muscle, and Eddie guesses when he isn’t bent over he’s probably about as tall as Richie is, if not taller. Eddie finds himself watching this man closer than the rest, trying desperately to place his memory of them. With a quick flash, the man darts his eyes directly at Eddie, and Eddie watches him look him head to toe before averting his gaze.

“Ahem,” the cashier behind the counter says when it’s Eddies turn but he hasn’t moved forward. “You’re holding up the line.”

Eddie jumps at the voice and shakes his head a bit, glancing back at the other man who is no longer looking his direction.

_Maybe I imagined it?_

_Why did he look so…mad?_

_Where the hell do I know him from?_

He wills his feet to move forward and apologizes to the grungy looking girl for not paying attention before ordering his muffin and a small caramel latte.

“Sorry we’re out of muffins,” she says, clicking gum between her teeth.

“What? You always have muffins,” he argues, surprised, because they _do_.

“Little late, buddy,” she says with a shrug. “Do you want anything else?”

“A less irritating cashier maybe,” Eddie says under his breath, really trying to hold onto the shreds of his good mood that are slowly being ripped away by this bitch’s attitude. He pulls out his card and hands it to her, pulling it roughly out of her fingers when she hands it back to him. He tries his best to scowl at her without encouraging her to elicit a response, and shuffles to the waiting area.

Out of the corner of his eyes he can see the head of the group of guys watching him and almost feels scared.

_What’s this guys fucking deal?_

_If you recognize me then come say something._

_Didn’t your mother teach you that staring is rude?_

_He’s probably the one who took the last muffin._

He pulls out his phone, remembering what sparked his good day to begin with, remembering that Richie is available to him instantly again, and sending him a text that he doesn’t mean to sound as pathetic as it does. But it gets his point across and he figures Richie will be cool about it.

_Eddie Kaspbrak: When can I see you again? I miss you._

He reacts when his name is called, walking to the pick up area and grabbing his coffee, trying to get out of this building as quickly as possible. He feels like he’s trapped, there are eyes on him that he doesn’t understand the hostility of and he doesn’t want to wait for them to pounce. With a shudder he realizes he needs to walk past the table of guys to leave through the exit door, and the swarm of people entering through the entrance door makes it nearly impossible to stumble past them. Pulling in a shaky inhale, he beelines to the door, averting his eyes away from their table.

He watches them through his peripherals, and they don’t seem to take notice of him, which he’s thankful for. He’s probably just imagining things, that happens sometimes when you get paranoid, his mother always told him that, paranoia can make you afraid of things that aren’t there. She was one to talk.

As he places his hand on the handle of the door, he hears a throat clear behind him, and unmistakable words spoken.

“Get some longer shorts, you fucking fairy.”

Eddie guesses it was the leader, because the harmony of laughter that follows sounds almost forced. Eddie resists the strong urge to turn around, to say something, to _do something_ because who the fuck does this asshole think he is? But he doesn’t, because he can’t, he’s scared, feeling very much like himself as a child.

Without turning around, he pushes aggressively on the door, and storms out into the sun, his fingers shaking as he brings a desperate cigarette to his trembling lips.

**Author's Note:**

> As always you can come chat with me on [ tumblr ](http://helaheim.tumblr.com) because I'm a lonely nerd who loves internet friends. <3


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